CORPORAL   CAMERON 


RALPH      CONNOR 


Of 


RALPH   CONNOR'S  NOVELS 


CORPORAL  CAMERON 

THE  FOREIGNER 

BLACK  ROCK 

THE  SKY  PILOT 

THE  PROSPECTOR 

THE  DOCTOR 

THE  MAN  FROM  GLENGARRY 

GLENGARRY  SCHOOL  DAYS 


CORPORAL 
CAMERON 

OF    THE    NORTH    WEST 
MOUNTED     POLICE 

A  TALE  OF  THE  MACLEOD  TRAIL 

BY 

RALPH   CONNOR 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  SKY  PILOT."  "THE  FOREIGNER." 
"THE  MAN  FROM  GLENGARRY,"  ETC. 


HODDER  &  STOUGHTON 

NEW  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1912, 
By  George  H.  Doran  Company 


CONTENTS 


BOOK  I 

CHAPTER  PACE 

I  THE  QUITTER,      ....«•.  1 

II  THE  GLEN  OP  THE  CUP  OF  GOLD,          .        .  14 

III  THE  FAMILY  SOLICITOR,      .         ....  22 

IV  A  QUESTION  OP  HONOUR,        ....  43 
V  A  LADY  AND  THE  LAW, 56 

VI  THE  WASTER'S  REFUGE,           ....  82 

VII  FAREWELL  TO  CUAGH  OIR, 105 

VIII  WELL  HE  COME  BACK? 120 

BOOK  II 

I  Ho  FOB  THE  OPEN!      .....  185 

II  A  MAN'S  JOB, 158 

III  A  DAY'S  WORK, 173 

IV  A  RAINY  DAY, 109 

V  How  THEY  SAVED  THE  DAY,       ....  226 

VI  A  SABBATH  DAY  m  LATE  AUGUST,        .        .  258 

VII  THE  CHIVAREE, 276 

VIII  IN  APPLE  TIME, 293 

2130082 


CONTENTS 


BOOK  III 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  THE  CAMP  BY  THE  GAP, 305 

II  ON  THE  WINGS  OF  THE  STORM,       ...  321 

III  THE  STONIES, 332 

IV  THE  DULL  RED  STAIN, 347 

V  SERGEANT  CRISP,         ......  364 

VI  A  DAT  IN  THE  MACLEOD  BARRACKS,     .        .  375 

VII  THE  MAKING  OP  BRAVES, 399 

VIII  NURSE  HALEY, 421 

IX  "CORPORAL"  CAMERON  434 


BOOK  ONE 


CORPORAL  CAMERON 


O 


CHAPTER  I 

THE   QUITTEE 

H-H-H-H,  Cam-er-on!"  Agony,  reproach,  en- 
treaty, vibrated,  in  the  clear  young  voice  that 
rang  out  over  the  Inverleith  grounds.  The 
Scottish  line  was  sagging! — that  line  invincible  in  two 
years  of  International  conflict,  the  line  upon  which  Ire- 
land and  England  had  broken  their  pride.  Sagging! 
And  because  Cameron  was  weakening!  Cameron,  the 
brilliant  half-back,  the  fierce-fighting,  erratic  young 
Highlander,  disciplined,  steadied  by  the  great  Dunn  into 
an  instrument  of  Scotland's  glory!  Cameron  going 
back !  A  hush  fell  on  the  thronged  seats  and  packed 
inner-circle, — a  breathless,  dreadful  hush  of  foreboding. 
High  over  the  hushed  silence  that  vibrant  cry  rang;  and 
Cameron  heard  it.  The  voice  he  knew.  It  was  young 
Rob  Dunn's,  the  captain's  young  brother,  whose  soul 
knew  but  two  passions,  one  for  the  captain  and  one  for 
the  half-back  of  the  Scottish  International. 

And  Cameron  responded.  The  enemy's  next  high 
punt  found  him  rock-like  in  steadiness.  And  rock-like 
he  tossed  high  over  his  shoulders  the  tow-headed  Welsh- 
man rushing  joyously  at  him,  and  delivered  his  ball  far 
down  the  line  safe  into  touch.  But  after  his  kick  he 
was  observed  to  limp  back  into  his  place.  The  fierce 
pace  of  the  Welsh  forwards  was  drinking  the  life  of 
the  Scottish,  backline. 

An  hour;  then  a  half;  then  another  half,  without  a 
score.  And  now  the  final  quarter  was  searching,  search- 
ing the  weak  spots  in  their  line.  The  final  quarter  it  is 
that  finds  a  man's  history  and  habits ;  the  clean  of  blood 
and  of  life  defy  its  pitiless  probe,  but  the  rotten  fibre 


8  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

yields  and  snaps.  That  momentary  weakness  of  Cam- 
eron's like  a  subtle  poison  runs  through  the  Scottish 
line;  and  like  fluid  lightning  through  the  Welsh.  It  is 
the  touch  upon  the  trembling  balance.  With  cries  exult- 
ant with  triumph,  the  Welsh  forwards  fling  themselves 
upon  the  steady  Scots  now  fighting  for  life  rather  than 
for  victory.  And  under  their  captain's  directions  these 
fierce,  victory-sniffing  Welsh  are  delivering  their  attack 
upon  the  spot  where  he  fancies  he  has  found  a  yielding. 
In  vain  Cameron  rallies  his  powers ;  his  nerve  is  failing 
him,  his  strength  is  done.  Only  five  minutes  to  play, 
but  one  minute  is  enough.  Down  upon  him  through  a 
broken  field,  dribbling  the  ball  and  following  hard  like 
hounds  on  a  hare,  come  the  Welsh,  the  tow-head  raging 
in  front,  bloody  and  fearsome.  There  is  but  one  thing 
for  Cameron  to  do;  grip  that  tumbling  ball,  and,  com- 
mitting body  and  soul  to  fate,  plunge  into  that  line. 
Alas,  his  doom  is  upon  him !  He  grips  the  ball,  pauses 
a  moment — only  a  fatal  moment, — but  it  is  enough.  His 
plunge  is  too  late.  He  loses  the  ball.  A  surge  of  Welsh- 
men overwhelm  him  in  the  mud  and  carry  the  ball  across. 
The  game  is  won — and  lost.  What  though  the  Scots, 
like  demons  suddenly  released  from  hell,  the  half-back 
Cameron  most  demon-like  of  all,  rage  over  the  field, 
driving  the  Welshmen  hither  and  thither  at  will,  the 
gods  deny  them  victory ;  it  is  for  Wales  that  day ! 

In  the  retreat  of  their  rubbing-room  the  gay,  gallant 
humour  which  the  Scots  have  carried  with  them  off  the 
field  of  their  defeat,  vanishes  into  gloom.  Through  the 
steaming  silence  a  groan  breaks  now  and  then.  At 
length  a  voice: 

"Oh,  wasn't  it  rotten!    The  rank  quitter  that  he  is!" 
"Quitter?     Who  is?     Who  says  so?"     It  was  the 
captain's  voice,  sharp  with  passion. 


THE    QUITTEE 


"I  do,  Dunn.  It  was  Cameron  lost  us  the  game.  You 
know  it,  too.  I  know  it's  rotten  to  say  this,  but  I  can't 
help  it.  Cameron  lost  the  game,  and  I  say  he's  a  rank 
'quitter/  as  Martin  would  say." 

"Look  here,  Nesbitt,"  the  captain's  voice  was  quiet, 
but  every  man  paused  in  his  rubbing.  "I  know  how  sore 
you  are  and  I  forgive  you  that ;  but  I  don't  want  to  hear 
from  you  or  from  any  man  on  the  team  that  word 
again.  Cameron  is  no  quitter;  he  made — he  made  an 
error, — he  wasn't  fit, — but  I  say  to  you  Cameron  is  no 
quitter." 

While  he  was  speaking  the  door  opened  and  into  the 
room  came  a  player,  tall,  lanky,  with  a  pale,  gaunt  face, 
plastered  over  the  forehead  with  damp  wisps  of  straight, 
black  hair.  His  deep-set,  blue-grey  eyes  swept  the  room. 

"Thanks,  Dunn,"  he  said  hoarsely.  "Let  them  curse 
me !  I  deserve  it  all.  It's  tough  for  them,  but  God  knows 
I've  got  the  worst  of  it.  I've  played  my  last  game."  His 
voice  broke  huskily. 

"Oh,  rot  it,  Cameron,"  cried  Dunn.  "Don't  be  an 
ass!  Your  first  big  game — every  fellow  makes  his  mis- 
take—" 

"Mistake!  Mistake!  You  can't  lie  easily,  Dunn.  I 
was  a  fool  and  worse  than  a  fool.  I  let  myself  down  and 
I  wasn't  fit.  Anyway,  I'm  through  with  it."  His  voice 
was  wild  and  punctuated  with  unaccustomed  oaths ;  his 
breath  came  in  great  sobs. 

"Oh,  rot  it,  Cameron!"  again  cried  Dunn.  "Next 
year  you'll  be  twice  the  man.  You're  just  getting  into 
your  game." 

Eight  loyally  his  men  rallied  to  their  captain : 

"Eight  you  are !" 

"Why,  certainly;  no  man  geta  into  the  game  first 
year !" 


CORPORAL    CAMERON 


"We'll  give  'em  beans  next  year,  Cameron,  old  man !" 

They  were  all  eager  to  atone  for  the  criticism  which 
all  had  held  in  their  hearts  and  which  one  of  them  had 
spoken.  But  this  business  was  serious.  To  lose  a  game 
was  bad  enough,  but  to  round  on  a  comrade  was  unpar- 
donable; while  to  lose  from  the  game  a  half-back  of 
Cameron's  calibre  was  unthinkable. 

Meanwhile  Cameron  was  tearing  off  his  football  togs 
and  hustling  on  his  clothes  with  fierce  haste.  Dunn  kept 
his  eye  on  him,  hurrying  his  own  dressing  and  chatting 
quietly  the  while.  But  long  before  he  was  ready  for  the 
street,  Cameron  had  crushed  his  things  into  a  bag  and 
was  looking  for  his  hat. 

"Hold  on!  I'm  with  you;  I'm  with  you  in  a  jiffy," 
said  Dunn. 

"My  hat,"  muttered  Cameron,  searching  wildly  among 
the  jumble. 

"Oh,  hang  the  hat ;  let  it  go !  Wait  for  me,  Cameron. 
Where  are  you  going?"  cried  Dunn. 

"To  the  devil,"  cried  the  lad,  slamming  the  door  behind 
him. 

"And,  by  Jove,  he'll  go,  too !"  said  Nesbitt.  '  "Say, 
I'm  awfully  sorry  I  made  that  break,  Dunn.  It  was 
beastly  low-down  to  round  on  a  chap  like  that.  I'll  go 
after  him." 

"Do,  old  chap!  He's  frightfully  cut  up.  And  get 
him  for  to-night.  He  may  fight  shy  of  the  dinner.  But 
he's  down  for  the  pipes,  you  know,  and — well,  he's  just 
got  to  be  there.  Good-bye,  you  chaps ;  I'm  off !  And — 
I  say,  men !"  When  Dunn  said  "men"  they  all  knew  it 
was  their  captain  that  was  speaking.  Everybody  stood 
listening.  Dunn  hesitated  a  moment  or  two,  as  if  search- 
ing for  words.  "About  the  dinner  to-night :  I'd  like  you 
to  remember — I  mean — I  don't  want  any  man  to — oh, 


THE    QUITTER 


hang  it,  you  know  what  I  mean !  There  will  be  lots  of 
fellows  there  who  will  want  to  fill  you  up.  I'd  hate 
to  see  any  of  our  team — "  The  captain  paused  embar- 
rassed. 

"We  tumble,  Captain,"  said  Martin,  a  medical  student 
from  Canada,  who  played  quarter.  "I'll  keep  an  eye 
on  'em,  you  bet !" 

Everybody  roared;  for  not  only  on  the  quarter-line 
but  also  at  the  dinner  table  the  little  quarter-back  was 
a  marvel  of  endurance. 

"Hear  the  blooming  Colonist!"  said  Linklater,  Mar- 
tin's comrade  on  the  quarter-line,  and  his  greatest 
friend.  "We  know  who'll  want  the  watching,  but  we'll 
see  to  him,  Captain." 

"All  right,  old  chap !  Sorry  I'll  have  to  cut  the  van. 
I'm  afraid  my  governor's  got  the  carriage  here  for  me." 

But  the  men  all  made  outcry.  There  were  other  plans 
for  him. 

"But,  Captain;  hold  on!" 

"Aw,  now,  Captain !    Don't  forsake  us !" 

"But  I  say,  Dunn,  see  us  through ;  we're  shy !" 

"Don't  leave  us,  Captain,  or  you'll  be  sorry,"  sang 
out  Martin.  "Come  on,  fellows,  let's  keep  next  him! 
We'll  give  him  'Old  Grimes !' " 

Already  a  mighty  roar  was  heard  outside.  The  green, 
the  drive,  the  gateways,  and  the  street  were  blocked  with 
the  wildest  football  fanatics  that  Edinburgh,  and  all 
Scotland  could  produce.  They  were  waiting  for  the 
International  players,  and  were  bent  on  carrying  their 
great  captain  down  the  street,  shoulder  high;  for  the 
enthusiasm  of  the  Scot  reaches  the  point  of  madness 
only  in  the  hour  of  glorious  defeat.  But  before  they 
were  aware,  Dunn  had  shouldered  his  mighty  form 
through  the  opposing  crowds  and  had  got  safely  into  the 


CORPORAL   CAMERON 


carriage  beside  his  father  and  his  young  brother.    But 
the  crowd  were  bound  to  have  him. 

"We  want  him,  Docthor,"  said  a  young  giant  in  a 
tam-o'-shanter.  "In  fac',  Docthor,"  he  argued  with  a 
humourous  smile,  "we  maun  hae  him." 

"Ye'll  no'  get  him,  Jock  Murchison,"  shouted  young 
Rob,  standing  in  front  of  his  big  brother.  "We  want 
him  yi'  us." 

The  crowd  laughed  gleefully. 

"Go  for  him,  Jock!  You  can  easy  lick  him,"  said  a 
voice  encouragingly. 

"Pit  him  oot,  Docthor,"  said  'Jock,  who  was  a  great 
friend  of  the  family,  and  who  had  a  profound  respect  for 
the  doctor. 

"It's  beyond  me,  Jock,  I  fear.  See  yon  bantam  cock ! 
I  doubt  ye^ll  hae  to  be  content,"  said  the  doctor,  drop- 
ping into  Jock's  kindly  Doric. 

"Oh,  get  on  there,  Murchison,"  said  Dunn  impatiently. 
"You're  not  going  to  make  an  ass  of  me;  make  up  your 
mind  to  that !" 

Jock  hesitated,  meditating  a  sudden  charge,  but 
checked  by  his  respect  for  Doctor  Dunn. 

"Here,  you  fellows!"  shouted  a  voice.  "Fall  in;  the 
band  is  going  to  play !  Get  into  line  there,  you  Tam-o'- 
shanter;  you're  stopping  the  procesh!  Now  then,  wait 
for  the  line,  everybody!"  It  was  Little  Martin  on  top 
of  the  van  in  which  were  the  Scottish  players.  "Tune, 
'Old  Grimes' ;  words  as  follows.  Catch  on,  everybody !" 

"Old  Dunn,  old  Dunn,  old  Dunn,  old  Dunn, 

Old  Dunn,  old  Dunn,  old  Dunn, 
Old  Dunn,  old  Dunn,  old  Dunn,  old  Dunn, 
Old  Dunn,  old  Dunn,  old  Dunn." 

With  a  delighted  cheer  the  crowd  formed  in  line,  and, 


THE    QUITTER 


led  by  the  little  quarter-back  on  top  of  the  van,  they  set 
off  down  the  street,  two  men  at  the  heads  of  the  doctor's 
carriage  horses,  holding  them  in  place  behind  the  van. 
On  went  the  swaying  crowd  and  on  went  the  swaying 
chant,  with  Martin  director  of  ceremonies  and  Dunn 
hurling  unavailing  objurgations  and  entreaties  at  Jock's 
head. 

Through  the  uproar  a  girl's  voice  reached  the  doctor's 
ear: 

"Aren't  they  lovely,  Sir?" 

The  doctor  turned  to  greet  a  young  lady,  tall,  strong, 
and  with  the  beauty  of  perfect  health  rather  than  of 
classic  feature  in  her  face.  There  was  withal  a  careless 
disregard  of  the  feminine  niceties  of  dress. 

"Oh,  Miss  Brodie!  Will  you  not  come  up?  We  can 
easily  make  room." 

"I'd  just  love  to,"  cried  the  girl,  "but  I'm  only  a  hum- 
ble member  of  the  procession,  following  the  band  and 
the  chariot  wheels  of  the  conqueror."  Her  strong  brown 
face  was  all  aglow  with  ardour. 

"Conqueror!"  growled  Dunn.  "Not  much  of  a  con- 
queror !" 

"Why  not?  Oh  fudge!  The  game?  What  matters 
the  game?  It's  the  play  we  care  about." 

"Well  spoken,  lassie,"  said  the  doctor.  "That's  the 
true  sport." 

"Aren't  they  awful?"  cried  Dunn.  "Look  at  that 
young  Canadian  idiot  up  there." 

"Well,  if  you  ask  me,  I  think  he's  a  perfect  dear,"  said 
Miss  Brodie,  deliberately.  "I'm  sure  I  know  him ;  any- 
way I'm  going  to  encourage  him  with  my  approval." 
And  she  waved  her  hand  at  Martin. 

The  master  of  ceremonies  responded  by  taking  off  his 
hat  and  making  a  sweeping  bow,  still  keeping  up  the 


8  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

beat.  The  crowd,  following  his  eyes,  turned  their  atten- 
tion to  the  young  lady,  much  to  Dunn's  delight. 

"Oh,"  she  gasped,  "they'll  be  chanting  me  next! 
Good-bye !  I'm  off !"  And  she  darted  back  to  the  com- 
pany of  her  friends  marching  on  the  pavement. 

At  this  point  Martin  held  up  both  arms  and  called  for 
silence. 

"Second  verse,"  he  shouted,  "second  verse!  Get  the 
words  now !" 

"Old  Dunn  ain't  done,  old  Dunn  ain't  done, 

Old  Dunn,  old  Dunn  ain't  done, 
Old  Dunn  ain't  done,  old  Dunn  ain't  done, 
Old  Dunn,  old  Dunn  ain't  done." 

But  the  crowd  rejected  the  Colonial  version,  and  ren- 
dered in  their  own  good  Doric : 

"Old  Dunn's  no'  done,  old  Dunn's  no'  done, 

Old  Dunn,  old  Dunn's  no'  done, 
Old  Dunn's  no'  done,  old  Dunn's  no'  done, 
Old  Dunn,  old  Dunn's  no'  done." 

And  so  they  sang  and  swayed,  following  the  van  till 
they  neared  Queen  Street,  down  which  lay  the  doctor's 
course. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  can't  they  be  choked  off?"  groaned 
Dunn. 

The  doctor  signalled  Jock  to  him. 

"Jock,"  he  said,  "we'll  just  slip  through  at  Queen 
Street." 

"We'd  like  awfully  to  do  Princes  Street,  Sir,"  pleaded 
Jock. 

"Princes  Street,  you  born  ass!"  cried  Dunn  wrath- 
frilly. 

"Oh,  yes,  let  them !"  cried  young  Rob,  whose  delight 
in  the  glory  of  his  hero  had  been  beyond  all  measure. 
"Let  them  do  Princes  Street,  just  once !" 


THE    QUITTER  9 

But  the  doctor  would  not  have  it.  "Jock,"  he  said 
quietly,  "just  get  us  through  at  Queen  Street." 

"All  right,  Sir,"  replied  Jock  with  great  regret.  "It 
will  be  as  you  say/' 

Under  Jock's  orders,  when  Queen  Street  was  reached, 
the  men  at  the  horses'  heads  suddenly  swung  the  pair 
from  the  crowd,  and  after  some  struggling,  got  them 
safely  into  the  clear  space,  leaving  the  procession  to 
follow  the  van,  loudly  cheering  their  great  International 
captain,  whose  prowess  on  the  field  was  equalled  only 
by  his  modesty  and  his  hatred  of  a  demonstration. 

"Listen  to  the  idiots,"  said  Dunn  in  disgust,  as  the 
carriage  bore  them  away  from  the  cheering  crowd. 

"Man,  they're  just  fine!  Aren't  they,  Father?"  said 
young  Rob  in  an  ecstasy  of  joy. 

"They're  generous  lads,  generous  lads,  boy,"  said  Doc- 
tor Dunn,  his  old  eyes  shining,  for  his  son's  triumph 
touched  him  deeply.  "That's  the  only  way  to  take  de- 
feat." 

"That's  all  right,  Sir,"  said  Dunn  quickly,  "but  it's 
rather  embarrassing,  though  it's  awfully  decent  of 
them." 

The  doctor's  words  suggested  fresh  thoughts  to  young 
Rob.  "But  it  was  terrible;  and  you  were  just  on  the 
win,  too,  I  know." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  at  all,"  said  his  brother. 

"Oh,  it  is  terrible,"  said  Rob  again. 

"Tut,  tut,  lad !  What's  so  terrible?"  said  his  father. 
"One  side  has  to  lose." 

"Oh,  it's  not  that,"  said  Rob,  his  lip  trembling.  "I 
don't  care  a  sniff  for  the  game." 

"What,  then?"  said  his  big  brother  in  a  voice  sharp- 
ened by  his  own  thoughts. 

"Oh,  Jack,"  said  Rob,  nervously  wreathing  his  hands, 


10  CORPORAL   CAMERON 

"he — it  looked  as  if  he — "  the  lad  could  not  bring  him- 
self to  say  the  awful  word.  Nor  was  there  need  to  ask 
who  it  was  the  boy  had  in  mind. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Rob?"  the  captain's  voice  was 
impatient,  almost  angry. 

Then  Rob  lost  his  control.  "Oh,  Jack,  I  can't  help  it ; 
I  saw  it.  Do  you  think — did  he  really  funk  it?"  His 
voice  broke.  He  clutched  his  brother's  knee  and  stood 
with  face  white  and  quivering.  He  had  given  utterance 
to  the  terrible  suspicion  that  was  torturing  his  heroic 
young  soul.  Of  his  two  household  gods  one  was  totter- 
ing on  its  pedestal.  That  a  football  man  should  funk — 
the  suspicion  was  too  dreadful. 

The  captain  glanced  at  his  father's  face.  There  was 
gloom  there,  too,  and  the  same  terrible  suspicion.  "No, 
Sir,"  said  Dunn,  with  impressive  deliberation,  answer- 
ing the  look  on  his  father's  face,  "Cameron  is  no  quitter. 
He  didn't  funk.  I  think,"  he  continued,  while  Rob's 
tear-stained  face  lifted  eagerly,  "I  know  he  was  out  of 
condition ;  he  had  let  himself  run  down  last  week,  since 
the  last  match,  indeed,  got  out  of  hand  a  bit,  you 
know,  and  that  last  quarter — you  know,  Sir,  that  last 
quarter  was  pretty  stiff — his  nerve  gave  just  for  a  mo- 
ment." 

"Oh,"  said  the  doctor  in  a  voice  of  relief,  "that  ex- 
plains it.  But,"  he  added  quickly  in  a  severe  tone,  "it 
was  very  reprehensible  for  a  man  on  the  International 
to  let  himself  get  out  of  shape,  very  reprehensible  indeed. 
An  International,  mind  you !" 

"It  was  my  fault,  Sir,"  I'm  afraid,"  said  Dunn,  regret- 
fully. "I  ought  to  have—" 

"Nonsense!  A  man  must  be  responsible  for  himself. 
Control,  to  be  of  any  value,  must  be  ultroneous,  as  our 
old  professor  used  to  say." 


THE    QUITTER  11 

"That's  true,  Sir,  but  I  had  kept  pretty  close  to  him 
up  to  the  last  week,  you  see,  and — " 

"Bad  training,  bad  training.  A  trainer's  business  is 
to  school  his  men  to  do  without  him." 

"That  is  quite  right,  Sir.  I  believe  I've  been  making 
a  mistake,"  said  Dunn  thoughtfully.  "Poor  chap,  he's 
awfully  cut  up !" 

"So  he  should  be,"  said  the  doctor  sternly.  "He  had 
no  business  to  get  out  of  condition.  The  International, 
mind  you !" 

"Oh,  Father,  perhaps  he  couldn't  help  it,"  cried 
Kob,  whose  loyal,  tender  heart  was  beating  hard  against 
his  little  ribs,  "and  he  looks  awful.  I  saw  him  come 
out  and  when  I  called  to  him  he  never  looked  at  me 
once." 

There  is  no  finer  loyalty  in  this  wrorld  than  that  of  a 
boy  below  his  teens.  It  is  so  without  calculation,  with- 
out qualification,  and  without  reserve.  Dr.  Dunn  let 
his  eyes  rest  kindly  upon  his  little  flushed  face. 

"Perhaps  so,  perhaps  so,  my  boy,"  he  said,  "and  I 
have  no  doubt  he  regrets  it  now  more  than  any  of  us. 
Where  has  he  gone?" 

"Nesbitt's  after  him,  Sir.    He'll  get  him  for  to-night." 

But  as  Dunn,  fresh  from  his  bath,  but  still  sore  and 
stiff,  was  indulging  in  a  long-banished  pipe,  Nesbitt 
came  in  to  say  that  Cameron  could  not  be  found. 

"And  have  you  not  had  your  tub  yet?"  said  his  cap- 
tain. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right !  You  know  I  feel  awfully  about 
that  beastly  remark  of  mine." 

"Oh,  let  it  go,"  said  Dunn.  "That'll  be  all  right. 
You  get  right  away  home  for  your  tub  and  get  freshened 
up  for  to-night.  I'll  look  after  Cameron.  You  know  he 
is  down  for  the  pipes.  He's  simply  got  to  be  there,  and 


12  COBPOEAL    CAMERON 

I'll  get  him  if  I  have  to  bring  him  in  a  crate,  pipes,  kilt 
and  all." 

And  Nesbitt,  knowing  that  Dunn  never  promised  what 
he  could  not  fulfil,  went  off  to  his  tub  in  fair  content. 
He  knew  his  captain. 

As  Dunn  was  putting  on  his  coat  Eob  came  in,  dis- 
tress written  on  his  face. 

"Are  you  going  to  get  Cameron,  Jack?"  he  asked 
timidly.  "I  asked  Nesbitt,  and  he  said — " 

"Now  look  here,  youngster,"  said  his  big  brother,  then 
paused.  The  distress  in  the  lad's  face  checked  his  words. 
"Now,  Eob,"  he  said  kindly,  "you  needn't  fret  about  this. 
Cameron  is  all  right. 

The  kind  tone  broke  down  the  lad's  control.  He 
caught  his  brother's  arm.  "Say,  Jack,  are  you  sure — he 
didn't — funk?"  His  voice  dropped  to  a  whisper. 

Then  his  big  brother  sat  down  and  drew  the  lad  to  his 
side.  "Now  listen,  Eob ;  I'm  going  to  tell  you  the  exact 
truth.  Cameron  did  not  funk.  The  truth  is,  he  wasn't 
fit, — he  ought  to  have  been,  but  he  wasn't, — and  because 
he  wasn't  fit  he  came  mighty  near  quitting — for  a  mo- 
ment, I'm  sure,  he  felt  like  it,  because  his  nerve  was 
gone, — but  he  didn't.  Eemember,  he  felt  like  quitting 
and  didn't.  And  that's  the  finest  thing  a  chap  can  do,— 
never  to  quit,  even  when  he  feels  like  it.  Do  you  see?" 

The  lad's  head  went  up.  "I  see,"  he  said,  his  eyes 
glowing.  "It  was  fine !  I'm  awfully  glad  he  didn't  quit, 
'specially  when  he  felt  like  it.  You  tell  him  for  me." 
His  idol  was  firm  again  on  his  pedestal. 

"All  right,  old  chap,"  said  his  big  brother.  "You'll 
never  quit,  I  bet !" 

"Not  if  I'm  fit,  will  I?" 

"Eight  you  are !    Keep  fit— that's  the  word !" 

And  with  that  the  big  brother  passed  out  to  find  the 


THEQUITTEK  13 

man  who  was  writhing  in  an  agony  of  self -contempt ;  for 
in  the  face  of  all  Scotland  and  in  the  hour  of  her  need 
he  had  failed  because  he  wasn't  fit. 

After  an  hour  Dunn  found  his  man,  fixed  in  the  re- 
solve to  there  and  then  abandon  the  game  with  all  the 
appurtenances  thereof,  and  among  these  the  dinner. 
Mightily  his  captain  laboured  with  him,  plying  him  with 
varying  motives, — the  honour  of  the  team  was  at  stake; 
the  honour  of  the  country  was  at  stake ;  his  own  honour, 
for  was  he  not  down  on  the  programme  for  the  pipes? 
It  was  all  in  vain.  In  dogged  gloom  the  half-back 
listened  unmoved. 

At  length  Dunn,  knowing  well  the  Highlander's  tender 
heart,  cunningly  touched  another  string  and  told  of 
Rob's  distress  and  subsequent  relief,  and  then  gave  his 
half-back  the  boy's  message.  "I  promised  to  tell  you, 
and  I  almost  forgot.  The  little  beggar  was  terribly 
worked  up,  and  as  I  remember  it,  this  is  what  he  said : 
'I'm  awfully  glad  he  didn't  quit,  'specially  when  he  felt 
like  it.'  Those  were  his  very  words." 

Then  Cameron  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and 
groaned  aloud,  while  Dunn,  knowing  that  he  had 
reached  his  utmost,  stood  silent,  waiting.  Suddenly 
Cameron  flung  up  his  head : 

"Did  he  say  I  didn't  quit?  Good  little  soul !  I'll  go ; 
I'd  go  through  hell  for  that !" 

And  so  it  came  that  not  in  a  crate,  but  in  the  gallant 
garb  of  a  Highland  gentleman,  pipes  and  all,  Cameron 
was  that  night  in  his  place,  fighting  out  through  the  long 
hilarious  night  the  fiercest  fight  of  his  life,  chiefly  be- 
cause of  the  words  that  lay  like  a  balm  to  his  lacerated 
heart: 

"He  didn't  quit,  'specially  when  he  felt  like  it." 


14  COKPOBALCAMEKON 

CHAPTEK  II 

THE  GLEN  OF  THE  CUP  OF  GOLD 

JUST  over  the  line  of  the  Grampians,  near  the  head- 
waters of  the  Spey,  a  glen,  small  and  secluded, 
lies  bedded  deep  among  the  hills, — a  glen  that 
when  filled  with  sunlight  on  a  summer  day  lies  like  a 
cup  of  gold;  the  gold  all  liquid  and  flowing  over  the 
cup's  rim.  And  hence  they  call  the  glen  "The  Cuagh 
Oir,"  The  Glen  of  the  Cup  of  Gold. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  Cuagh,  far  down,  a  little  loch 
gleams,  an  oval  of  emerald  or  of  sapphire,  according  to 
the  sky  above  that  smiles  into  its  depths.  On  dark  days 
the  loch  can  gloom,  and  in  storm  it  can  rage,  white- 
lipped,  just  like  the  people  of  the  Glen. 

Around  the  emerald  or  sapphire  loch  farmlands  lie 
sunny  and  warm,  set  about  their  steadings,  and  are  on 
this  spring  day  vivid  with  green,  or  rich  in  their  red- 
browns  where  the  soil  lies  waiting  for  the  seed.  Beyond 
the  sunny  fields  the  muirs  of  brown  heather  and  bracken 
climb  abruptly  up  to  the  dark-massed  firs,  and  they  to 
the  Cuagh's  rim.  But  from  loch  to  rim,  over  field  and 
muir  and  forest,  the  golden,  liquid  light  ever  flows  on 
a  sunny  day  and  fills  the  Cuagh  Oir  till  it  runs  over. 

On  the  east  side  of  the  loch,  among  some  ragged  firs,  a 
rambling  Manor  House,  ivy-covered  and  ancient,  stood; 
and  behind  it,  some  distance  away,  the  red  tiling  of  a 
farm-cottage,  with  its  steading  clustering  near,  could  be 
seen.  About  the  old  Manor  House  the  lawn  and  garden 
told  of  neglect  and  decay,  but  at  the  farmhouse  order 
reigned.  The  trim  little  garden  plot,  the  trim  lawn,  the 
trim  walks  and  hedges,  the  trim  thatch  of  the  roof,  the 
trim  do'-cote  above  it,  the  trim  stables,  byres,  barns  and 


GLEN  OF  THE  CUP  OF  GOLD   15 

yard  of  the  steading,  proclaimed  the  prudent,  thrifty 
care  of  a  prudent,  thrifty  soul. 

And  there  in  the  steading  quadrangle,  amidst  the 
feathered  creatures,  hens,  cocks  and  chicks,  ducks,  geese, 
turkeys  and  bubbly-jocks,  stood  the  mistress  of  the 
Manor  and  prudent,  thrifty  manager  of  the  farm, — a 
girl  of  nineteen,  small,  well-made,  and  trim  as  the  farm- 
house and  its  surroundings,  with  sunny  locks  and  sunny 
face  and  sunny  brown  eyes.  Her  shapely  hands  were 
tanned  and  coarsened  by  the  weather;  her  little  feet 
were  laced  in  stout  country-made  brogues ;  her  dress  was 
a  plain  brown  winsey,  kilted  and  belted  open  at  the  full 
round  neck ;  the  kerchief  that  had  fallen  from  her  sunny, 
tangled  hair  was  of  simple  lawn,  spotless  and  fresh; 
among  her  fowls  she  stood,  a  country  lass  in  habit  and 
occupation,  but  in  face  and  form,  in  look  and  poise,  a 
lady  every  inch  of  her.  Dainty  and  daunty,  sweet  and 
strong,  she  stood,  "the  bonny  like  o'  her  bonny  mither," 
as  said  the  South  Country  nurse,  Nannie,  who  had 
always  lived  at  the  Glen  Cuagh  House  from  the  time 
that  that  mother  was  a  baby ;  "but  no'  sae  fine  like,"  the 
nurse  would  add  with  a  sigh.  For  she  remembered  ever 
the  gentle  airs  and  the  high-bred,  stately  grace  of  Mary 
Kobertson, — for  though  married  to  Captain  Cameron 
of  Erracht,  Mary  Kobertson  she  continued  to  be  to  the 
Glen  folk, — the  lady  of  her  ancestral  manor,  now  for  five 
years  lain  under  the  birch  trees  yonder  by  the  church 
tower  that  looked  out  from  its  clustering  firs  and  birches 
on  the  slope  beyond  the  loch.  Five  years  ago  the  gentle 
lady  had  passed  from  them,  but  like  the  liquid,  golden 
sunlight,  and  like  the  perfume  of  the  heather  and  the 
firs,  the  aroma  of  her  saintly  life  still  filled  the  Glen. 

A  year  after  that  grief  had  fallen,  Moira,  her  one 
daughter,  "the  bonny  like  o'  her  bonny  mither,  though 


16  CORPORAL   CAMERON 

no'  sae  fine,"  had  somehow  slipped  into  command  of  the 
House  Farm,  the  only  remaining  portion  of  the  wide 
demesne  of  farmlands  once  tributary  to  the  House.  And 
by  the  thrift  which  she  learned  from  her  South  Country 
nurse  in  the  care  of  her  poultry  and  her  pigs,  and  by  her 
shrewd  oversight  of  the  thriftless,  doddling  Highland 
farmer  and  his  more  thriftless  and  more  doddling 
womenfolk,  she  brought  the  farm  to  order  and  to  a  basis 
of  profitable  returns.  And  this,  too,  with  so  little  "clash 
and  claver"  that  her  father  only  knew  that  somehow 
things  were  more  comfortable  about  the  place,  and  that 
there  were  fewer  calls  than  formerly  upon  his  purse 
for  the  upkeep  of  the  House  and  home.  Indeed,  the  less 
appeared  Moira's  management,  both  in  the  routine  of 
the  House  and  in  the  care  of  the  farm,  the  more  peace- 
fully flowed  the  current  of  their  life.  It  seriously  an- 
noyed the  Captain  at  intervals  when  he  came  upon  his 
daughter  directing  operations  in  barnyard  or  byre.  That 
her  directing  meant  anything  more  than  a  girlish  med- 
dling in  matters  that  were  his  entire  concern  and  about 
which  he  had  already  given  or  was  about  to  give  orders, 
the  Captain  never  dreamed.  That  things  about  the 
House  were  somehow  prospering  in  late  years  he  set 
down  to  his  own  skill  and  management  and  his  own 
knowledge  of  scientific  farming;  a  knowledge  which, 
moreover,  he  delighted  to  display  at  the  annual  dinners 
of  the  Society  for  the  Improvement  of  Agriculture  in 
the  Glen,  of  which  he  was  honourary  secretary ;  a  knowl- 
edge which  he  aired  in  lengthy  articles  in  local  agricul- 
tural and  other  periodicals;  a  knowledge  which,  how- 
ever, at  times  became  the  occasion  of  dismay  to  his 
thrifty  daughter  and  her  Highland  farmer,  and  not  sel- 
dom the  occasion  of  much  useless  expenditure  of  guineas 
hard  won  from  pigs  and  poultry.  True,  more  serious 


GLEN  OF  THE  CUP  OF  GOLD   17 

loss  was  often  averted  by  the  facility  with  which  the 
Captain  turned  from  one  scheme  to  another,  happily 
forgetful  of  orders  he  had  given  and  which  were  never 
carried  out ;  and  by  the  invincible  f abianism  of  the  High- 
land farmer,  who,  listening  with  gravest  attention  to 
the  Captain's  orders  delivered  in  the  most  definite  and 
impressive  terms,  would  make  reply,  "Yess,  yess  indeed, 
I  know;  she  will  be  attending  to  it  immediately — to- 
morrow, or  fery  soon  whateffer."  It  cannot  be  said  that 
this  capacity  for  indefinite  procrastination  rendered  the 
Highlander  any  less  valuable  to  his  "tear  young  leddy." 
The  days  on  which  Postie  appeared  with  a  large  bundle 
of  mail  were  accounted  good  days  by  the  young  mistress, 
for  on  these  and  succeeding  days  her  father  would  be 
"busy  with  his  correspondence."  And  these  days  were 
not  few,  for  the  Captain  held  many  honourary  offices  in 
county  and  other  associations  for  the  promotion  and 
encouragement  of  various  activities,  industrial,  social, 
and  philanthropic.  Of  the  importance  of  these  activities 
to  the  county  and  national  welfare,  the  Captain  had  no 
manner  of  doubt,  as  his  voluminous  correspondence 
testified.  As  to  the  worth  of  his  correspondence  his 
daughter,  too,  held  the  highest  opinion,  estimating  her 
father,  as  do  all  dutiful  daughters,  at  his  own  valuation. 
For  the  Captain  held  himself  in  high  esteem ;  not  simply 
for  his  breeding,  which  was  of  the  Camerons  of  Erracht; 
nor  for  his  manners,  which  were  of  the  most  courtly,  if 
occasionally  marred  by  fretfulness;  nor  for  his  dress, 
which  was  that  of  a  Highland  gentleman,  perfect  in 
detail  and  immaculate,  but  for  his  many  and  public 
services  rendered  to  the  people,  the  county,  and  the 
nation.  Indeed  his  mere  membership  dues  to  the  vari- 
ous associations,  societies  and  committees  with  which 
he  was  connected,  and  his  dining  expenses  contingent 


18  COKPORAL   CAMEKON 

upon  their  annual  meetings,  together  with  the  amounts 
expended  upon  the  equipment  and  adornment  of  his 
person  proper  to  such  festive  occasions,  cut  so  deep  into 
the  slender  resources  of  the  family  as  to  give  his  prudent 
daughter  some  considerable  concern;  though  it  is  safe 
to  say  that  such  concern  her  father  would  have  regarded 
not  only  as  unnecessary  but  almost  as  impertinent. 

The  Captain's  correspondence,  however  extensive,  was 
on  the  whole  regarded  by  his  daughter  as  a  good  rather 
than  an  evil,  in  that  it  secured  her  domestic  and  farm 
activities  from  disturbing  incursions.  This  spring 
morning  Moira's  apprehensions  awakened  by  an  ex- 
tremely light  mail,  were  realized,  as  she  beheld  her 
father  bearing  down  upon  her  with  an  open  letter  in  his 
hand.  His  handsome  face  was  set  in  a  fretful  frown. 

"Moira,  my  daughter !"  he  exclaimed,  "how  often  have 
I  spoke  to  you  about  this — this — unseemly — ah — muss- 
ing and  meddling  in  the  servants'  duties !" 

"But,  Papa,"  cried  his  daughter,  "look  at  these  dear 
things!  I  love  them  and  they  all  know  me,  and  they 
behave  so  much  better  when  I  feed  them  myself.  Do 
they  not,  Janet?"  she  added,  turning  to  the  stout  and 
sonsy  farmer's  daughter  standing  by. 

"Indeed,  then,  they  are  clever  at  knowing  you,"  re- 
plied the  maid,  whose  particular  duty  was  to  hold  a 
reserve  supply  of  food  for  the  fowls  that  clamoured  and 
scrambled  about  her  young  mistress. 

"Look  at  that  vain  bubbly-jock  there,  Papa,"  cried 
Moira,  "he  loves  to  have  me  notice  him.  Conceited 
creature !  Look  out,  Papa,  he  does  not  like  your  kilts !" 
The  bubbly-jock,  drumming  and  scraping  and  sidling 
ever  nearer  to  the  Captain's  naked  knees,  finally  with 
great  outcry  flew  straight  at  the  affronting  kilts. 

"Get  off  with  you,  you  beast !"  cried  the  Captain,  kick- 


GLEN  OF  THE  CUP  OF  GOLD   19 

ing  vainly  at  the  wrathful  bird,  and  at  the  same  time 
beating  a  wise  retreat  before  his  onset. 

Moira  rushed  to  his  rescue.  "Hoot,  Jock!  Shame 
on  ye!"  she  cried.  "There  now,  you  proud  thing,  be 
off !  He's  just  jealous  of  your  fine  appearance,  Papa." 
With  her  kerchief  she  nipped  into  submission  the 
haughty  bubbly-jock  and  drew  her  father  out  of  the 
steading.  "Come  away,  Papa,  and  see  my  pigs." 

But  the  Captain  was  in  no  humour  for  pigs.  "Non- 
sense, child,"  he  cried,  "let  us  get  out  of  this  mess !  Be- 
sides, I  wish  to  speak  to  you  on  a  matter  of  importance." 
They  passed  through  the  gate.  "It  is  about  Allan,"  he 
continued,  "and  I'm  really  vexed.  Something  terrible 
has  happened." 

"Allan!"  the  girl's  voice  was  faint  and  her  sunny 
cheek  grew  white.  "About  Allan!"  she  said  again. 
"And  what  is  wrong  with  Allan,  Papa?" 

"That's  what  I  do  not  know,"  replied  her  father  fret- 
fully ;  "but  I  must  away  to  Edinburgh  this  very  day,  so 
you'll  need  to  hasten  with  my  packing.  And  bid  Donald 
bring  round  the  cart  at  once." 

But  Moira  stood  dazed.  "But,  Papa,  you  have  not  told 
me  what  is  wrong  with  Allan."  Her  voice  was  quiet, 
but  with  a  certain  insistence  in  it  that  at  once  irritated 
her  father  and  compelled  his  attention. 

"Tut,  tut,  Moira,  I  have  just  said  I  do  not  know." 

"Is  he  ill,  Papa?"    Again  the  girl's  voice  grew  faint. 

"No,  no,  not  ill.  I  wish  he  were!  I  mean  it  is  some 
business  matter  you  cannot  understand.  But  it  must  be 
serious  if  Mr.  Rae  asks  my  presence  immediately.  So 
you  must  hasten,  child." 

In  less  than  half  an  hour  Donald  and  the  cart  were 
waiting  at  the  door,  and  Moira  stood  in  the  hall  with 
her  father's  bag  ready  packed.  "Oh,  I  am  glad,"  she 


20  COBPOBAL    CAMERON 

said,  as  she  helped  her  father  with  his  coat,  "that  Allan 
is  not  ill.  There  can't  be  much  wrong." 

"Wrong!  Bead  that,  child!"  cried  the  father  impa- 
tiently. 

She  took  the  letter  and  read,  her  face  reflecting  her 
changing  emotions,  perplexity,  surprise,  finally  indigna- 
tion. "  'A  matter  for  the  police,' "  she  quoted,  scorn- 
fully, handing  her  father  the  letter.  "  'A  matter  for  the 
police'  indeed !  My  but  that  Mr.  Bae  is  the  clever  man ! 
The  police!  Does  he  think  my  brother  Allan  would 
cheat? — or  steal,  perhaps !"  she  panted,  in  her  indignant 
scorn. 

"Mr.  Bae  is  a  careful  man  and  a  very  able  lawyer," 
replied  her  father. 

"Able !  Careful !  He's  an  auld  wife,  and  that's  what 
he  is!  You  can  tell  him  so  for  me."  She  was  trem- 
bling and  white  with  a  wrath  her  father  had  never 
before  seen  in  her.  He  stood  gazing  at  her  in  silent 
surprise. 

"Papa,"  cried  Moira  passionately,  answering  his  look, 
"do  you  think  what  he  is  saying?  I  know  my  brother 
Allan  clean  through  to  the  heart.  He  is  wild  at  times, 
and  might  rage  perhaps  and — and — break  things,  but 
he  will  not  lie  nor  cheat.  He  will  die  first,  and  that  I 
warrant  you." 

Still  her  father  stood  gazing  upon  her  as  she  stood 
proudly  erect,  her  pale  face  alight  with  lofty  faith  in  her 
brother  and  scorn  of  his  traducer.  "My  child,  my  child/' 
he  said,  huskily,  "how  like  you  are  to  your  mother! 
Thank  God !  Indeed  it  may  be  you're  right !  God  grant 
it !"  He  drew  her  closely  to  him. 

"Papa,  Papa,"  she  whispered,  clinging  to  him,  while 
her  voice  broke  in  a  sob,  "you  know  Allan  will  not  lie* 
You  know  it,  don't  you,  Papa?" 


GLEN  OF  THE  CUP  OF  GOLD   21 

"I  hope  not,  dear  child,  I  hope  not,"  he  replied,  still 
holding  her  to  him. 

"Papa,"  she  cried  wildly,  "say  you  believe  me." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  do  believe  you.  Thank  God,  I  do  believe 
you.  The  boy  is  straight." 

At  that  word  she  let  him  ga  That  her  father  should 
not  believe  in  Allan  was  to  her  loyal  heart  an  intolerable 
pain.  Now  Allan  would  have  someone  to  stand  for  him 
against  "that  lawyer"  and  all  others  who  might  seek  to 
do  him  harm.  At  the  House  door  she  stood  watching 
her  father  drive  down  through  the  ragged  firs  to  the 
highroad,  and  long  after  he  had  passed  out  of  sight  she 
still  stood  gazing.  Upon  the  church  tower  rising  out 
of  its  birches  and  its  firs  her  eyes  were  resting,  but  her 
heart  was  with  the  little  mound  at  the  tower's  foot,  and 
as  she  gazed,  the  tears  gathered  and  fell. 

"Oh,  Mother!"  she  whispered.  "Mother,  Mother! 
You  know  Allan  would  not  lie !" 

A  sudden  storm  was  gathering.  In  a  brief  moment 
the  world  and  the  Glen  had  changed.  But  half  an  hour 
ago  and  the  Cuagh  Oir  was  lying  glorious  with  its  flow- 
ing gold.  Now,  from  the  Cuagh  as  from  her  world,  the 
flowing  gold  was  gone. 


22  CORPORAL    CAMERON 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  FAMILY  SOLICITOR 

THE  senior  member  of  the  legal  firm  of  Rae  &  Mac- 
pherson  was  perplexed  and  annoyed,  indeed 
angry,  and  angry  chiefly  because  he  was  per- 
plexed. He  resented  such  a  condition  of  mind  as  reflect- 
ing upon  his  legal  and  other  acumen.  Angry,  too,  he  was 
because  he  had  been  forced  to  accept,  the  previous  day, 
a  favour  from  a  firm — Mr.  Rae  would  not  condescend 
to  say  a  rival  firm — with  which  he  for  thirty  years  had 
maintained  only  the  most  distant  and  formal  relations, 
to  wit,  the  firm  of  Thomlinson  &  Shields.  Messrs.  Rae 
&  Macpherson  were  family  solicitors  and  for  three  gen- 
erations had  been  such ;  hence  there  gathered  about  the 
firm  a  fine  flavour  of  assured  respectability  which  only 
the  combination  of  solid  integrity  and  undoubted  an- 
tiquity can  give.  Messrs.  Rae  &  Macpherson  had  not 
yielded  in  the  slightest  degree  to  that  commercialising 
spirit  which  would  transform  a  respectable  and  self- 
respecting  firm  of  family  solicitors  into  a  mere  financial 
agency;  a  transformation  which  Mr.  Rae  would  con- 
sider a  degradation  of  an  ancient  and  honourable  pro- 
fession. This  uncompromising  attitude  toward  the 
commercialising  spirit  of  the  age  had  doubtless  some- 
thing to  do  with  their  losing  the  solicitorship  for  the 
Bank  of  Scotland,  which  went  to  the  firm  of  Thomlinson 
&  Shields,  to  Mr.  Rae's  keen,  though  unacknowledged, 
disappointment ;  a  disappointment  that  arose  not  so 
much  from  the  loss  of  the  very  honourable  and  lucrative 
appointment,  and  more  from  the  fact  that  the  appoint- 
ment should  go  to  such  a  firm  as  that  of  Thomlinson 


THE    FAMILY    SOLICITOR  23 

&  Shields.  For  the  firm  of  Thomlinson  &  Shields  were 
of  recent  origin,  without  ancestry,  boasting  an  exist- 
ence of  only  some  thirty-five  years,  and,  as  one  might 
expect  of  a  firm  of  such  recent  origin,  characterised  by 
the  commercialising  modern  spirit  in  its  most  pro- 
nounced and  objectionable  form.  Mr.  Rae,  of  course, 
would  never  condescend  to  hostile  criticism,  dismissing 
Messrs.  Thomlinson  &  Shields  from  the  conversation 
with  the  single  remark,  "Pushing,  Sir,  very  pushing, 
indeed." 

It  was,  then,  no  small  humiliation  for  Mr.  Rae  to  be 
forced  to  accept  a  favour  from  Mr.  Thomlinson.  "Had 
it  been  any  other  than  Cameron,"  he  said  to  himself,  as 
he  sat  in  his  somewhat  dingy  and  dusty  ofiice,  "I  would 
let  him  swither.  But  Cameron !  I  must  see  to  it  and  at 
once."  Behind  the  name  there  rose  before  Mr.  Rae's 
imagination  a  long  line  of  brave  men  and  fair  women  for 
whose  name  and  fame  and  for  whose  good  estate  it  had 
been  his  duty  and  the  duty  of  those  who  had  preceded 
him  in  office  to  assume  responsibility. 

"Young  fool!  Much  he  cares  for  the  honour  of  his 
family !  I  wonder  what's  at  the  bottom  of  this  business ! 
Looks  ugly !  Decidedly  ugly !  The  first  thing  is  to  find 
him."  A  messenger  had  failed  to  discover  young  Cam- 
eron at  his  lodgings,  and  had  brought  back  the  word 
that  for  a  week  he  had  not  been  seen  there.  "He  must 
be  found.  They  have  given  me  till  to-morrow.  I  cannot 
ask  a  further  stay  of  proceedings;  I  cannot  and  I  will 
not."  It  made  Mr.  Kae  more  deeply  angry  that  he  knew 
quite  well  if  necessity  arose  he  would  do  just  that  very 
thing.  "Then  there's  his  father  coming  in  this  evening. 
We  simply  must  find  him.  But  how  and  where?" 

Mr.  Rae  was  not  unskilled  in  such  a  matter.  "Find 
a  man,  find  his  friends,"  he  muttered.  "Let's  see.  What 


24  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

does  the  young  fool  do?  What  are  his  games?  Ah! 
Football !  I  have  it !  Young  Dunn  is  my  man."  Hence 
to  young  Dunn  forthwith  Mr.  Rae  betook  himself. 

It  was  still  early  in  the  day  when  Mr.  Rae's  mild, 
round,  jolly,  clean-shaven  face  beamed  in  upon  Mr. 
Dunn,  who  sat  with  dictionaries,  texts,  and  class  note- 
books piled  high  about  him,  burrowing  in  that  mound 
of  hidden  treasure  which  it  behooves  all  prudent  as- 
pirants for  university  honours  to  diligently  mine  as  the 
fateful  day  approaches.  With  Mr.  Dunn  time  had  now 
come  to  be  measured  by  moments,  and  every  moment 
golden.  But  the  wrathful  impatience  that  had  gathered 
in  his  face  at  the  approach  of  an  intruder  was  over- 
whelmed in  astonishment  at  recognising  so  distinguished 
a  visitor  as  Mr.  Rae  the  Writer. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Dunn,"  said  Mr.  Rae  briskly,  "a  moment 
only,  one  moment,  I  assure  you.  Well  do  I  know  the 
rage  which  boils  behind  that  genial  smile  of  yours. 
Don't  deny  it,  Sir.  Have  I  not  suffered  all  the  pangs, 
with  just  a  week  before  the  final  ordeal?  This  is  your 
final,  I  believe?" 

"I  hope  so,"  said  Mr.  Dunn  somewhat  ruefully. 

"Yes,  yes,  and  a  very  fine  career,  a  career  befitting 
your  father's  son.  And  I  sincerely  trust,  Sir,  that  as 
your  career  has  been  marked  by  honour,  your  exit  shall 
be  with  distinction ;  and  all  the  more  that  I  am  not  un- 
aware of  your  achievements  in  another  department  of — 
ah — shall  I  say  endeavour.  I  have  seen  your  name,  Sir, 
mentioned  more  than  once,  to  the  honour  of  our  univer- 
sity, in  athletic  events."  At  this  point  Mr.  Rae's  face 
broke  into  a  smile. 

An  amazing  smile  was  Mr.  Rae's;  amazing  both  in 
the  suddenness  of  its  appearing  and  in  the  suddenness 
of  its  vanishing.  Upon  a  face  of  supernatural  gravity, 


THE    FAMILY    SOLICITOR  25 

without  warning,  without  beginning,  the  smile,  broad, 
full  and  effulgent,  was  instantaneously  present.  Then 
equally  without  warning  and  without  fading  the  smile 
ceased  to  be.  Under  its  effulgence  the  observer  unfa- 
miliar with  Mr.  Rae's  smile  was  moved  to  a  responsive 
geniality  of  expression,  but  in  the  full  tide  of  this  emo- 
tion he  found  himself  suddenly  regarding  a  face  of  such 
preternatural  gravity  as  rebuked  the  very  possibility  or 
suggestion  of  geniality.  Before  the  smile  Mr.  Rae's  face 
was  like  a  house,  with  the  shutters  up  and  the  family 
plunged  in  gloom.  When  the  smile  broke  forth  every 
shutter  was  flung  wide  to  the  pouring  sunlight,  and 
every  window  full  of  flowers  and  laughing  children. 
Then  instantly  and  without  warning  the  house  was 
blank,  lifeless,  and  shuttered  once  more,  leaving  you  help- 
lessly apologetic  that  you  had  ever  been  guilty  of  the 
fatuity  of  associating  anything  but  death  and  gloom 
with  its  appearance. 

To  young  Mr.  Dunn  it  was  extremely  disconcerting  to 
discover  himself  smiling  genially  into  a  face  of  the 
severest  gravity,  and  eyes  that  rebuked  him  for  his  un- 
timely levity.  "Oh,  I  beg  pardon,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Dunn 
hastily,  "I  thought—" 

"Not  at  all,  Sir,"  replied  Mr.  Rae.  "As  I  was  saying, 
I  have  observed  from  time  to  time  the  distinctions  you 
have  achieved  in  the  realm  of  athletics.  And  that  re- 
minds me  of  my  business  with  you  to-day, — a  sad  busi- 
ness, a  serious  business,  I  fear."  The  solemn  impressive- 
ness  of  Mr.  Rae's  manner  awakened  in  Mr.  Dunn  an 
awe  amounting  to  dread.  "It  is  young  Cameron,  a  friend 
of  yours,  I  believe,  Sir." 

"Cameron,  Sir !"  echoed  Dunn. 

"Yes,  Cameron.  Does  he,  or  did  he  not  have  a  place 
on  your  team?" 


26  CORPORAL    CAM  EBON 

Dunn  sat  upright  and  alert.  "Yes,  Sir.  What's  the 
matter,  Sir?" 

"First  of  all,  do  you  know  where  he  is?  I  have  tried 
his  lodgings.  He  is  not  there.  It  is  important  that  I 
find  him  to-day,  extremely  important;  in  fact,  it  is 
necessary;  in  short,  Mr.  Dunn, — I  believe  I  can  confide 
in  your  discretion, — if  I  do  not  find  him  to-day,  the 
police  will  to-morrow." 

"The  police,  Sir!"  Dunn's  face  expressed  an  awful 
fear.  In  the  heart  of  the  respectable  Briton  the  very 
mention  of  the  police  in  connection  with  the  private  life 
of  any  of  his  friends  awakens  a  feeling  of  gravest  appre- 
hension. No  wonder  Mr.  Dunn's  face  went  pale !  "The 
police!"  he  said  a  second  time.  "What  for?" 

Mr.  Rae  remained  silent. 

"If  it  is  a  case  of  debts,  Sir,"  suggested  Mr.  Dunn, 
"why,  I  would  gladly — " 

Mr.  Rae  waved  him  aside.  "It  is  sufficient  to  say, 
Mr.  Dunn,  that  we  are  the  family  solicitors,  as  we  have 
been  for  his  father,  his  grandfather  and  great-grand- 
father before  him." 

"Oh,  certainly,  Sir.  I  beg  pardon,"  said  Mr.  Dunn 
hastily. 

"Not  at  all ;  quite  proper ;  does  you  credit.  But  it  is 
not  a  case  of  debts,  though  it  is  a  case  of  money ;  in  fact, 
Sir, — I  feel  sure  I  may  venture  to  confide  in  you, — he  is 
in  trouble  with  his  bank,  the  Bank  of  Scotland.  The 
young  man,  or  someone  using  his  name,  has  been  guilty 
of — ah — well,  an  irregularity,  a  decided  irregularity, 
an  irregularity  which  the  bank  seems  inclined  to— to — 
follow  up;  indeed,  I  may  say,  instructions  have  been 
issued  through  their  solicitors  to  that  effect.  Mr.  Thom- 
linson  was  good  enough  to  bring  this  to  my  attention, 
and  to  offer  a  stay  of  proceedings  for  a  day." 


THE    FAMILY    SOLICITOR  27 

"Can  I  do  anything,  Sir?"  said  Dunn.  "I'm  afraid 
I've  neglected  him.  The  truth  is,  I've  been  in  an  awful 
funk  about  my  exams,  and  I  haven't  kept  in  touch  as  I 
should." 

j  "Find  him,  Mr.  Dunn,  find  him.  His  father  is  com- 
ing to  town  this  evening,  which  makes  it  doubly  impera- 
tive. Find  him ;  that  is,  if  you  can  spare  the  time." 

"Of  course  I  can.  I'm  awfully  sorry  I've  lost  touch 
with  him.  He's  been  rather  down  all  this  winter;  in 
fact,  ever  since  the  International  he  seems  to  have  lost 
his  grip  of  himself." 

"Ah,  indeed!"  said  Mr.  Rae.  "I  remember  that  oc- 
casion ;  in  fact,  I  was  present  myself,"  he  admitted.  "I 
occasionally  seek  to  renew  my  youth."  Mr.  Rae's  smile 
broke  forth,  but  anxiety  for  his  friend  saved  Mr.  Dunn 
from  being  caught  again  in  any  responsive  smile.  "Bring 
him  to  my  office,  if  you  can,  any  time  to-day.  Good-bye, 
Sir.  Your  spirit  does  you  credit.  But  it  is  the  spirit 
which  I  should  expect  in  a  man  who  plays  the  forward 
line  as  you  play  it." 

Mr.  Dunn  blushed  crimson.  "Is  there  anything  else 
I  could  do?  Anyone  I  could  see?  I  mean,  for  instance, 
could  my  father  serve  in  any  way?" 

"Ah,  a  good  suggestion!"  Mr.  Rae  seized  his  right 
ear, — a  characteristic  action  of  his  when  in  deep  thought, 
— twisted  it  into  a  horn,  and  pulled  it  quite  severely  as 
if  to  assure  himself  that  that  important  feature  of  his 
face  was  firmly  fixed  in  its  place.  "A  very  good  sugges- 
tion! Your  father  knows  Mr.  Sheratt,  the  manager  of 
the  bank,  I  believe/' 

"Very  well,  Sir,  I  think,"  answered  Mr.  Dunn.  "I 
am  sure  he  would  see  him.  Shall  I  call  him  in,  Sir?" 

"Nothing  of  the  sort,  nothing  of  the  sort ;  don't  think 
of  it!  I  mean,  let  there  be  nothing  formal  in  this  mat- 


28  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

ter.  If  Mr.  Dunn  should  chance  to  meet  Mr.  Sheratt, 
that  is,  casually,  so  to  speak,  and  if  young  Cameron's 
name  should  come  up,  and  if  Mr.  Dunn  should  use  his 
influence,  his  very  great  influence,  with  Mr.  Sheratt,  the 
bank  might  be  induced  to  take  a  more  lenient  view  of 
the  case.  I  think  I  can  trust  you  with  this."  Mr.  Rae 
shook  the  young  man  warmly  by  the  hand,  beamed  on 
him  for  one  brief  moment  with  his  amazing  smile,  pre- 
sented to  his  answering  smile  a  face  of  unspeakable 
gravity,  and  left  him  extremely  uncertain  as  to  the 
proper  appearance  for  his  face,  under  the  circum- 
stances. 

Before  Mr.  Rae  had  gained  the  street  Dunn  was  plan- 
ning his  campaign ;  for  no  matter  wrhat  business  he  had 
in  hand,  Dunn  always  worked  by  plan.  By  the  time  he 
himself  had  reached  the  street  his  plan  was  formed. 
"No  use  trying  his  digs.  Shouldn't  be  surprised  if  that 
beast  Potts  has  got  him.  Rotten  bounder,  Potts,  and 
worse!  Better  go  round  his  way."  And  oscillating  in 
his  emotions  between  disgust  and  rage  at  Cameron  for 
his  weakness  and  his  folly,  and  disgust  and  rage  at  him- 
self for  his  neglect  of  his  friend,  Dunn  took  his  way  to 
the  office  of  the  Insurance  Company  which  was  hon- 
oured by  the  services  of  Mr.  Potts. 

The  Insurance  Company  knew  nothing  of  the  where- 
abouts of  Mr.  Potts.  Indeed,  the  young  man  who  as- 
sumed responsibility  for  the  information  appeared  to 
treat  the  very  existence  of  Mr.  Potts  as  a  matter  of 
slight  importance  to  his  company ;  so  slight,  indeed,  that 
the  company  had  not  found  it  necessary  either  to  the 
stability  of  its  business  or  to  the  protection  of  its  policy- 
holders — a  prime  consideration  with  Insurance  Com- 
panies— to  keep  in  touch  with  Mr.  Potts.  That  gentle- 
man had  left  for  the  East  coast  a  week  ago,  and  that 


THE    FAMILY    SOLICITOR  29 

was  the  end  of  the  matter  as  far  as  the  clerk  of  the 
Insurance  Company  was  concerned.  * 

At  his  lodgings  Mr.  Dunn  discovered  an  even  more 
callous  indifference  to  Mr.  Potts  and  his  interests.  The 
landlady,  under  the  impression  that  in  Mr.  Dunn  she 
beheld  a  prospective  lodger,  at  first  received  him  with 
that  deferential  reserve  which  is  the  characteristic  of 
respectable  lodging-house  keepers  in  that  city  of  respect- 
able lodgers  and  respectable  lodging-house  keepers. 
When,  however,  she  learned  the  real  nature  of  Mr. 
Dunn's  errand,  she  became  immediately  transformed. 
In  a  voice  shrill  with  indignation  she  repudiated  Mr. 
Potts  and  his  affairs,  and  seemed  chiefly  concerned  to 
re-establish  her  own  reputation  for  respectability,  which 
she  seemed  to  consider  as  being  somewhat  shattered  by 
that  of  her  lodger.  Mr.  Dunn  was  embarrassed  both  by 
her  volubility  and  by  her  obvious  determination  to 
fasten  upon  him  a  certain  amount  of  responsibility  for 
the  character  and  conduct  of  Mr.  Potts. 

"Do  you  know  where  Mr.  Potts  is  now,  and  have  you 
any  idea  when  he  may  return?"  inquired  Mr.  Dunn, 
seizing  a  fortunate  pause. 

"Am  I  no'  juist  tellin'  ye,"  cried  the  landlady,  in  her 
excitement  reverting  to  her  native  South  Country  dia- 
lect, "that  I  keep  nae  coont  o'  Mr.  Potts'  stravagins?  An' 
as  to  his  return,  I  ken  naething  aboot  that  an'  care  less. 
He's  paid  what  he's  been  owing  me  these  three  months 
an'  that's  all  I  care  aboot  him." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  that,"  said  Mr.  Dunn  heartily. 

"An'  glad  I  am  tae,  for  it's  feared  I  was  for  my  pay 
a  month  back." 

"When  did  he  pay  up?"  inquired  Mr.  Dunn,  scenting 
a  clue. 

"A  week  come  Saturday, — or  was  it  Friday? — the 


30  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

day  he  came  in  with  a  young  man,  a  friend  of  his.  And 
a  night  they  made  of  it,  I  remember,"  replied  the  land- 
lady, recovering  command  of  herself  and  of  her  speech 
under  the  influence  of  Mr.  Dunn's  quiet  courtesy. 

"Did  you  know  the  young  man  that  was  with  him?" 

"Yes,  it  was  young  Cameron.  He  had  been  coming 
about  a  good  deal." 

"Oh,  indeed !  And  have  you  seen  Mr.  Cameron  since?" 

"No;  he  never  came  except  in  company  with  Mr. 
Potts." 

And  with  this  faint  clue  Mr.  Dunn  was  forced  to  con- 
tent himself,  and  to  begin  a  systematic  search  of  Cam- 
eron's haunts  in  the  various  parts  of  the  town.  It  was 
Martin,  his  little  quarter-back,  that  finally  put  him  on 
the  right  track.  He  had  heard  Cameron's  pipes  not 
more  than  an  hour  ago  at  his  lodgings  in  Morningside 
Road. 

"But  what  do  you  want  of  Cameron  these  days?"  in- 
quired the  young  Canadian.  "There's  nothing  on  just 
now,  is  there,  except  this  infernal  grind?" 

Dunn  hesitated.  "Oh,  I  just  want  him.  In  fact,  he 
has  got  into  some  trouble." 

"There  you  are !"  exclaimed  Martin  in  disgust.  "Why 
in  thunder  should  you  waste  time  on  him?  You've 
taken  enough  trouble  with  him  this  winter  already.  It's 
his  own  funeral,  ain't  it?" 

Dunn  looked  at  him  a  half  moment  in  surprise.  "Well, 
you  can't  go  back  on  a  fellow  when  he's  down,  can 
you?" 

"Look  here,  Dunn,  I've  often  thought  I'd  give  you  a 
little  wise  advice.  This  sounds  bad,  I  know,  but  there's 
a  lot  of  blamed  rot  going  around  this  old  town  just  on 
this  point.  When  a  fellow  gets  on  the  bum  and  gets  into 
a  hole  he  knows  well  that  there'll  be  a  lot  of  people 


THE    FAMILY    SOLICITOR  31 

tumbling  over  each  other  to  get  him  out,  hence  he  de- 
liberately and  cheerfully  slides  in.  If  he  knew  he'd  have 
to  scramble  out  himself  he  wouldn't  be  so  blamed  keen 
to  get  in.  If  he's  in  a  hole  let  him  frog  it  for  awhile, 
by  Jingo!  He's  hitting  the  pace,  let  him  take  his 
bumps !  He's  got  to  take  'em  sooner  or  later,  and  better 
sooner  than  later,  for  the  sooner  he  takes  'em  the  quicker 
he'll  learn.  Bye-bye!  I  know  you  think  I'm  a  semi- 
civilised  Colonial.  I  ain't ;  I'm  giving  you  some  wisdom 
gained  from  experience.  You  can't  swim  by  hanging  on 
to  a  root,  you  bet !" 

Dunn  listened  in  silence,  then  replied  slowly,  "I  say, 
old  chap,  there's  something  in  that.  My  governor  said 
something  like  that  some  time  ago :  'A  trainer's  business 
is  to  train  his  men  to  do  without  him/  " 

"There  you  are!"  cried  Martin.  "That's  philosophy! 
Mine's  just  horse  sense." 

"Still,"  said  Dunn  thoughtfully,  "when  a  chap's  in 
you've  got  to  lend  a  hand;  you  simply  can't  stand  and 
look  on."  Dunn's  words,  tone,  and  manner  revealed  the 
great,  honest  heart  of  human  sympathy  which  he  carried 
in  his  big  frame. 

"Oh,  hang  it,"  cried  Martin,  "I  suppose  so!  Guess1 
I'll  go  along  with  you.  I  can't  forget  you  pulled  me  out, 
too." 

"Thanks,  old  chap,"  cried  Dunn,  brightening  up,  "but 
you're  busy,  and — " 

"Busy!  By  Jingo,  you'd  think  so  if  you'd  watch  me 
over  night  and  hear  my  brain  sizzle.  But  come  along, 
I'm  going  to  stay  with  you !" 

But  Dunn's  business  was  private,  and  could  be  shared 
with  no  one.  It  was  difficult  to  check  his  friend's  newly- 
aroused  ardour.  "I  say,  old  chap,"  he  said,  "you  really 
don't  need  to  come  along.  I  can  do — " 


32  COEPOKALCAMEKON 

"Oh,  go  to  blazes !  I  know  you  too  well !  Don't  you 
worry  about  me!  You've  got  me  going,  and  I'm  in  on 
this  thing;  so  come  along!" 

Then  Dunn  grew  firm.  "Thanks,  awfully,  old  man," 
he  said,  "but  it's  a  thing  I'd  rather  do  alone,  if  you  don't 
mind." 

"Oh !"  said  Martin.  "All  right !  But  say,  if  you  need 
me  I'm  on.  You're  a  great  old  brick,  though !  Tra-la !" 

As  Martin  had  surmised,  Dunn  found  Cameron  in 
his  rooms.  He  was  lying  upon  his  bed  enjoying  the 
luxury  of  a  cigarette.  "Hello!  Come  right  in,  old 
chap!"  he  cried,  in  gay  welcome.  "Have  a — no,  you 
won't  have  a  cigarette — have  a  pipe?" 

Dunn  gazed  at  him,  conscious  of  a  rising  tide  of 
mingled  emotions,  relief,  wrath,  pity,  disgust.  "Well,  I'll 
be  hanged !"  at  last  he  said  slowly.  "But  you've  given 
us  a  chase!  Where  in  the  world  have  you  been?" 

"Been?  Oh,  here  and  there,  enjoying  my  emancipa- 
tion from  the  thralldom  in  which  doubtless  you  are  still 
sweating." 

"And  what  does  that  mean  exactly?" 

"Mean?  It  means  that  I've  cut  the  thing, — note- 
books, lectures,  professors,  exams.,  'the  hale  hypothick,' 
as  our  Nannie  would  say  at  home." 

"Oh  rot,  Cameron!    You  don't  mean  it?" 

"Circumspice.  Do  you  behold  any  suggestion  of  knot- 
ted towels  and  the  midnight  oil?" 

Dunn  gazed  about  the  room.  It  was  in  a  whirl  of  con- 
fusion. Pipes  and  pouches,  a  large  box  of  cigarettes,  a 
glass  and  a  half-empty  decanter,  were  upon  the  table; 
boots,  caps,  golf-clubs,  coats,  lay  piled  in  various  cor- 
ners. "Pardon  the  confusion,  dear  sir,"  cried  Cameron 
cheerfully,  "and  lay  it  not  to  the  charge  of  my  landlady. 
That  estimable  woman  was  determined  to  make  entry 


THE    FAMILY    SOLICITOR  33 

this  afternoon,  but  was  denied."  Cameron's  manner 
was  one  of  gay  and  nervous  bravado. 

"Come,  Cameron,"  said  Dunn  sadly,  "what  does  this 
mean?  You're  not  serious;  you're  not  chucking  your 
year?" 

"Just  that,  dear  fellow,  and  nothing  less.  Might  as 
well  as  be  ploughed." 

"And  what  then  are  you  going  to  do?"  Dunn's  voice 
was  full  of  a  great  pity.  "What  about  your  people? 
What  about  your  father?  And,  by  Jove,  that  reminds 
me,  he's  coming  to  town  this  evening.  You  know  they've 
been  trying  to  find  you  everywhere  this  last  day  or  two." 

"And  who  are  'they,'  pray?" 

"Who?  The  police,"  said  Dunn  bluntly,  determined 
to  shock  his  friend  into  seriousness. 

Cameron  sat  up  quickly.  "The  police?  What  do 
you  mean,  Dunn?" 

"What  it  means  I  do  not  know,  Cameron,  I  assure 
you.  Don't  you?" 

"The  police!"  said  Cameron  again.  "It's  a  joke, 
Dunn." 

"I  wish  to  Heaven  it  were,  Cameron,  old  man!  But 
I  have  it  straight  from  Mr.  Rae,  your  family  solicitor. 
They  want  you." 

"Old  Rae?"  exclaimed  Cameron.  "Now  what  the 
deuce  does  this  all  mean?" 

"Don't  you  really  know,  old  chap?"  said  Dunn  kindly, 
anxiety  and  relief  struggling  in  his  face. 

"No  more  than  you.  What  did  the  old  chap  say,  any- 
way?" 

"Something  about  a  Bank;  an  irregularity,  he  called 
it,  a  serious  irregularity.  He's  had  it  staved  off  for  a 
day." 

"The  Bank?    What  in  Heaven's  name  have  I  got  to 


34  CORPORAL   CAMERON 

do  with  the  Bank?  Let's  see;  I  was  there  a  week  or  ten 
days  ago  with — "  he  paused.  "Hang  it,  I  can't  remem- 
ber!" He  ran  his  hands  through  his  long  black  locks, 
and  began  to  pace  the  room. 

Dunn  sat  watching  him,  hope  and  fear,  doubt  and 
faith  filling  his  heart  in  succession. 

Cameron  sat  down  with  his  face  in  his  hands.  "What 
is  it,  old  man?  Can't  I  help  you?"  said  Dunn,  putting 
his  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"I  can't  remember,"  muttered  Cameron.  "I've  been 
going  it  some,  you  know.  I  had  been  falling  behind  and 
getting  money  off  Potts.  Two  weeks  ago  I  got  my 
monthly  five-pound  cheque,  and  about  ten  days  ago  the 
usual  fifty-pound  cheque  to  square  things  up  for  the 
year,  fees,  etc.  Seems  to  me  I  cashed  those.  Or  did 
Potts?  Anyway  I  paid  Potts.  The  deuce  take  it,  I 
can't  remember !  You  know  I  can  carry  a  lot  of  Scotch 
and  never  show  it,  but  it  plays  the  devil  with  my 
memory."  Cameron  was  growing  more  and  more  ex- 
cited. 

"Well,  old  chap,  we  must  go  right  along  to  Mr.  Rae's 
office.  You  don't  mind?" 

"Mind?  Not  a  bit.  Old  Rae  has  no  love  for  me, — 
I  get  him  into  too  much  trouble, — but  he's  a  straight  old 
boy.  Just  wait  till  I  brush  up  a  bit."  He  poured  out 
from  a  decanter  half  a  glass  of  whiskey. 

"I'd  cut  that  out  if  I  were  you,"  said  Dunn. 

"Later,  perhaps,"  replied  Cameron,  "but  not  to-day." 

Within  twenty  minutes  they  were  ushered  into  Mr. 
Rae's  private  office.  That  gentleman  received  them  with 
a  gravity  that  was  portentous  in  its  solemnity.  "Well, 
Sir,  you  have  succeeded  in  your  task,"  he  said  to  Mr. 
Dunn.  "I  wish  to  thank  you  for  this  service,  a  most 
valuable  service  to  me,  to  this  young  gentleman,  and  to 


THE    FAMILY    SOLICITOR  35 

his  family;  though  whether  much  may  come  of  it  re- 
mains to  be  seen." 

"Oh,  thanks,"  said  Dunn  hurriedly.  "I  hope  every- 
thing will  be  all  right."  He  rose  to  go.  Cameron  looked 
at  him  quickly.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  entreaty 
in  his  face. 

Mr.  Kae  spoke  somewhat  more  hurriedly  than  his 
wont.  "If  it  is  not  asking  too  much,  and  if  you  can  still 
spare  time,  your  presence  might  be  helpful,  Mr.  Dunn." 

"Stay  if  you  can,  old  chap,"  said  Cameron.  "I  don't 
know  what  this  thing  is,  but  I'll  do  better  if  you're  in  the 
game,  too."  It  was  an  appeal  to  his  captain,  and  after 
that  nothing  on  earth  could  have  driven  Dunn  from  his 
side. 

At  this  point  the  door  opened  and  the  clerk  announced, 
"Captain  Cameron,  Sir." 

Mr.  Rae  rose  hastily.  "Tell  him,"  he  said  quickly, 
"to  wait—" 

He  was  too  late.  The  Captain  had  followed  close 
upon  the  heels  of  the  clerk,  and  came  in  with  a  rush. 
"Now,  what  does  all  this  mean?"  he  cried,  hardly  wait- 
ing to  shake  hands  with  his  solicitor.  "What  mis- 
chief—?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Captain,"  said  Mr.  Kae  calmly, 
"let  me  present  Mr.  Dunn,  Captain  Dunn,  I  might  say, 
of  International  fame."  The  solicitor's  smile  broke 
forth  with  its  accustomed  unexpectedness,  but  had  van- 
ished long  before  Mr.  Dunn  in  his  embarrassment  had 
finished  shaking  hands  with  Captain  Cameron. 

The  Captain  then  turned  to  his  son.  "Well,  Sir,  and 
what  is  this  affair  of  yours  that  calls  me  to  town  at  a 
most  inconvenient  time?"  His  tone  was  cold,  fretful, 
and  suspicious. 

Young  Cameron's  face,  which  had  lighted  up  with  a 


36  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

certain  eagerness  and  appeal  as  he  had  turned  toward 
his  father,  as  if  in  expectation  of  sympathy  and  help, 
froze  at  this  greeting  into  sullen  reserve.  "I  don't  know 
any  more  than  yourself,  Sir,"  he  answered.  "I  have 
just  come  into  this  office  this  minute." 

"Well,  then,  what  is  it,  Mr.  Rae?"  The  Captain's 
voice  and  manner  were  distinctly  imperious,  if  not  over- 
bearing. 

Mr.  Rae,  however,  was  king  of  his  own  castle.  "Will 
you  not  be  seated,  Sir?"  he  said,  pointing  to  a  chair. 
"Sit  down,  young  gentlemen." 

His  quiet  dignity,  his  perfect  courtesy,  recalled  the 
Captain  to  himself.  "I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Rae,  but 
I  am  really  much  disturbed.  Can  we  begin  at  once?" 
He  glanced  as  he  spoke  at  Mr.  Dunn,  who  immediately 
rose. 

"Sit  down,  Mr.  Dunn,"  said  Mr.  Rae  quietly.  "I 
have  asked  this  young  gentleman,"  he  continued,  turn- 
ing to  the  Captain,  "to  remain.  He  has  already  given 
me  valuable  assistance.  I  fancy  he  may  be  able  to  serve 
us  still  further,  if  he  will  be  so  good." 

Mr.  Dunn  bowed  in  silence. 

"Now  let  us  proceed  with  what  must  be  an  exceed- 
ingly painful  matter  for  us  all,  and  out  of  which  nothing 
but  extreme  candour  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Allan  here,  and 
great  wisdom  on  the  part  of  us  all,  can  possibly  extract 
us."  Mr.  Rae's  glance  rested  upon  the  Captain,  who 
bowed,  and  upon  his  son,  who  made  no  sign  whatever, 
but  remained  with  his  face  set  in  the  same  sullen  gloom 
with  which  he  had  greeted  his  father. 

Mr.  Rae  opened  a  drawer  and  brought  forth  a  slip  of 
paper.  "Mr.  Allan,"  he  said,  with  a  certain  sharpness 
in  his  tone,  "please  look  at  this." 

Cameron  came  to  the  desk,  picked  up  the  paper, 


THE    FAMILY    SOLICITOR  37 

glanced  at  it.  "It  is  my  father's  cheque,"  he  said, 
"which  I  received  about  a  week  ago." 

"Look  at  the  endorsement,  please,"  said  Mr.  Kae. 

Cameron  turned  it  over.  A  slight  flush  came  to 
his  pale  face.  "It  is  mine  to — "  he  hesitated,  "Mr. 
Potts." 

"Mr.  Potts  cashed  it  then?" 

"I  suppose  so.  I  believe  so.  I  owed  him  money,  and 
he  gave  me  back  some." 

"How  much  did  you  owe  him?" 

"A  considerable  amount.  I  had  been  borrowing  of 
him  for  some  time." 

"As  much  as  fifty  pounds?" 

"I  cannot  tell.  I  did  not  keep  count,  particularly; 
Potts  did  that." 

The  Captain  snorted  contemptuously.  "Do  you  mean 
to  say — ?"  he  began. 

"Pardon  me,  Captain  Cameron.  Allow  me,"  said  Mr. 
Kae. 

"Now,  Mr.  Allan,  do  you  think  you  owed  him  as  much 
as  the  amount  of  that  cheque?" 

"I  do  not  know,  but  I  think  so." 

"Had  you  any  other  money?" 

"No,"  said  Allan  shortly ;  "at  least  I  may  have  had  a 
little  remaining  from  the  five  pounds  I  had  received 
from  my  father  a  few  days  before." 

"You  are  quite  sure  you  had  no  other  money?" 

"Quite  certain,"  replied  Allan. 

Again  Mr.  Rae  opened  his  desk  and  drew  forth  a  slip 
and  handed  it  to  young  Cameron.  "What  is  that?"  he 
said. 

Cameron  glanced  at  it  hurriedly,  and  turned  it  over. 
"That  is  my  father's  cheque  for  five  pounds,  which  I 
cashed." 


38  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

Mr.  Rae  stretched  out  his  hand  and  took  the  cheque. 
"Mr.  Allan,"  he  said,  "I  want  you  to  consider  most  care- 
fully your  answer."  He  leaned  across  the  desk  and  for 
some  moments — they  seemed  like  minutes  to  Dunn — 
his  eyes  searched  young  Cameron's  face.  "Mr.  Allan," 
he  said,  with  a  swift  change  of  tone,  his  voice  trembling 
slightly,  "will  you  look  at  the  amount  of  that  cheque 
again?" 

Cameron  once  more  took  the  cheque,  glanced  at  it. 
"Good  Lord !"  he  cried.  "It  is  fifty !"  His  face  showed 
blank  amazement. 

Quick,  low,  and  stern  came  Mr.  Rae's  voice.  "Yes," 
he  said,  "it  is  for  fifty  pounds.  Do  you  know  that  that 
is  a  forgery,  the  punishment  for  which  is  penal  servi- 
tude, and  that  the  order  for  your  arrest  is  already 
given?" 

The  Captain  sprang  to  his  feet.  Young  Cameron's 
face  became  ghastly  pale.  His  hand  clutched  the  top 
of  Mr.  Rae's  desk.  Twice  or  thrice  he  moistened  his  lips 
preparing  to  speak,  but  uttered  not  a  word.  "Good  God, 
my  boy!"  said  the  Captain  hoarsely.  "Don't  stand  like 
that.  Tell  him  you  are  innocent." 

"One  moment,  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Rae  to  the  Captain. 
"Permit  me."  Mr.  Rae's  voice,  while  perfectly  courte- 
ous, was  calmly  authoritative. 

"Mr.  Allan,"  he  continued,  turning  to  the  wretched 
young  man,  "what  money  have  you  at  present  in  your 
pockets?" 

With  shaking  hands  young  Cameron  emptied  upon 
the  desk  the  contents  of  his  pocketbook,  from  which  the 
lawyer  counted  out  ten  one-pound  notes,  a  half-sovereign 
and  some  silver.  "Where  did  you  get  this  money,  Mr. 
Allan?" 

The  young  man,  still  silent,  drew  his  handkerchief 


THE    FAMILY    SOLICITOR  39 

from  his  pocket,  touched  his  lips,  and  wiped  the  sweat 
from  his  white  face. 

"Mr.  Allan,"  continued  the  lawyer,  dropping  again 
into  a  kindly  voice,  "a  frank  explanation  will  help  us 
all." 

"Mr.  Eae,"  said  Cameron,  his  words  coming  with  pain- 
ful indistinctness,  "I  don't  understand  this.  I  can't 
think  clearly.  I  can't  remember.  That  money  I  got 
from  Potts;  at  least  I  must  have — I  have  had  money 
from  no  one  else." 

"My  God!"  cried  the  Captain  again.  "To  think  that 
a  son  of  mine  should — !" 

"Pardon  me,  Captain  Cameron,"  interrupted  Mr.  Kae 
quickly  and  somewhat  sharply.  "We  must  not  pre- 
judge this  case.  We  must  first  understand  it." 

At  this  point  Dunn  stepped  swiftly  to  Cameron's 
side.  "Brace  up,  old  chap,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone.  Then 
turning  towards  the  Captain  he  said,  "I  beg  your  par- 
don, Sir,  but  I  do  think  it's  only  fair  to  give  a  man  a 
chance  to  explain." 

"Allow  me,  gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Eae  in  a  firm,  quiet 
voice,  as  the  Captain  was  about  to  break  forth.  "Allow 
me  to  conduct  this  examination." 

Cameron  turned  his  face  toward  Dunn.  "Thank  you, 
old  man,"  he  said,  his  white  lips  quivering.  "I  will  do 
my  best,  but  before  God,  I  don't  understand  this." 

"Now,  Mr.  Allan,"  continued  the  lawyer,  tapping  the 
desk  sharply,  "here  are  two  cheques  for  fifty  pounds, 
both  drawn  by  your  father,  both  endorsed  by  you,  one 
apparently  cashed  by  Mr.  Potts,  one  by  yourself.  What 
do  you  know  about  this?" 

"Mr.  Rae,"  replied  the  young  man,  his  voice  trem- 
bling and  husky,  "I  tell  you  I  can't  understand  this.  I 
ought  to  say  that  for  the  last  two  weeks  I  haven't  been 


40  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

quite  myself,  and  whiskey  always  makes  me  forget.  I 
can  walk  around  steadily  enough,  but  I  don't  always 
know  what  I  am  doing — " 

"That's  so,  Sir,"  said  Dunn  quickly,  "I've  seen  him." 

" — And  just  what  happened  with  these  cheques  I  do 
not  know.  This  cheque,"  picking  up  the  one  endorsed 
to  Potts,  "I  remember  giving  to  Potts.  The  only  other 
cheque  I  remember  is  a  five-pound  one." 

"Do  you  remember  cashing  that  five-pound  cheque?" 
inquired  Mr.  Eae. 

"I  carried  it  about  for  some  days.  I  remember  that, 
because  I  once  offered  it  to  Potts  in  part  payment,  and 
he  said — "  the  white  face  suddenly  flushed  a  deep  red. 

"Well,  Mr.  Allan,  what  did  he  say?" 

"It  doesn't  matter,"  said  Cameron. 

"It  may  and  it  may  not,"  said  Mr.  Kae  sharply.  "It 
is  your  duty  to  tell  us." 

"Out  with  it,"  said  his  father  angrily.  "You  surely 
owe  it  to  me,  to  us  all,  to  let  us  have  every  assistance." 

Cameron  paid  no  attention  to  his  father's  words.  "It 
has  really  no  bearing,  Sir,  but  I  remember  saying  as  I 
offered  a  five-pound  cheque,  *I  wish  it  was  fifty.' ' 

"And  what  reply  did  Mr.  Potts  make?"  said  Mr.  Rae, 
with  quiet  indifference,  as  if  he  had  lost  interest  in  this 
particular  feature  of  the  case. 

Again  Cameron  hesitated. 

"Come,  out  with  it!"  said  his  father  impatiently. 

His  son  closed  his  lips  as  if  in  a  firm  resolve.  "It 
really  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the  case." 

"Play  the  game,  old  man,"  said  Dunn  quietly. 

"Oh,  all  right !"  said  Cameron.  "It  makes  no  differ- 
ence anyway.  He  said  in  a  joke,  'You  could  easily  make 
this  fifty ;  it  is  such  mighty  poor  writing/  " 

Still  Mr.  Kae  showed  no  sign  of  interest.     "He  sug- 


THE    FAMILY    SOLICITOR  41 

gested  in  a  joke,  I  understand,  that  the  five-pound  cheque 
could  easily  be  changed  into  fifty  pounds.  That  was  a 
mere  pleasantry  of  Mr.  Potts',  doubtless.  How  did  the 
suggestion  strike  you,  Mr.  Allan?" 

Allan  looked  at  him  in  silence. 

"I  mean,  did  the  suggestion  strike  you  unpleasantly, 
or  how?" 

"I  don't  think  it  made  any  impression,  Sir.  I  knew 
it  was  a  joke." 

"A  joke !"  groaned  his  father.  "Good  Heavens !  What 
do  you  think — ?" 

"Once  more  permit  me,"  said  Mr.  Eae  quietly,  with  a 
wave  of  his  hand  toward  the  Captain.  "This  cheque  of 
five  pounds  has  evidently  been  altered  to  fifty  pounds. 
The  question  is,  by  whom,  Mr.  Allan?  Can  you  answer 
that?"  Again  Mr.  Kae's  eyes  were  searching  the  young 
man's  face. 

"I  have  told  you  I  remember  nothing  about  thia 
cheque." 

"Is  it  possible,  Mr.  Allan,  that  you  could  have  raised 
this  cheque  yourself  without  your  knowing — ?" 

"Oh,  nonsense !"  said  his  father  hotly,  "why  make  the 
boy  lie?" 

His  son  started  as  if  his  father  had  struck  him.  "I 
tell  you  once  more,  Mr.  Rae,  and  I  tell  you  all,  I  know 
nothing  about  this  cheque,  and  that  is  my  last  word." 
And  from  that  position  nothing  could  move  him. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Rae,  closing  the  interview,  "we  have 
done  our  best.  The  law  must  take  its  course." 

"Great  Heavens !"  cried  the  Captain,  springing  to  his 
feet.  "Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  Allan,  that  you  persist 
in  this  cursed  folly  and  will  give  us  no  further  light? 
Have  you  no  regard  for  my  name,  if  not  for  your  own?" 
He  grasped  his  son  fiercely  by  the  arm. 


42  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

But  his  son  angrily  shook  off  his  grasp.  "You,"  he 
said,  looking  his  father  full  in  the  face,  "you  condemned 
me  before  you  heard  a  word  from  me,  and  now  for  my 
name  or  for  yours  I  care  not  a  tinker's  curse."  And 
with  this  he  flung  himself  from  the  room. 

"Follow  him/'  said  Mr.  Rae  to  Dunn,  quietly;  "he 
will  need  you.  And  keep  him  in  sight ;  it  is  important." 

"All  right,  Sir!"  said  Dunn.  "I'll  stay  with  him." 
And  he  did. 


A   QUESTION    OF    HONOUR  43 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  QUESTION  OF  HONOUR 

MR.  RAE  in  forty  years'  experience  had  never 
been  so  seriously  disturbed.  To  his  intense 
humiliation  he  found  himself  abjectly  appeal- 
ing to  the  senior  member  of  the  firm  of  Thomlinson  & 
Shields.  Not  that  Mr.  Thomlinson  was  obdurate;  in 
the  presence  of  mere  obduracy  Mr.  Rae  might  have 
found  relief  in  the  conscious  possession  of  more  gener- 
ous and  humane  instincts  than  those  supposed  to  be 
characteristic  of  the  members  of  his  profession.  Mr. 
Thomlinson,  however,  was  anything  but  obdurate.  He 
was  eager  to  oblige,  but  he  wras  helpless.  The  instruc- 
tions he  had  received  were  simple  but  imperative,  and 
he  had  gone  to  unusual  lengths  in  suggesting  to  Mr. 
Sheratt,  the  manager  of  the  Bank,  a  course  of  greater 
leniency.  That  gentleman's  only  reply  was  a  brief  order 
to  proceed  with  the  case. 

With  Mr.  Sheratt,  therefore,  Mr.  Rae  proceeded  to 
deal.  His  first  move  was  to  invite  the  Bank  manager  to 
lunch,  in  order  to  discuss  some  rather  important  matters 
relative  to  one  of  the  great  estates  of  which  Mr.  Rae  was 
supposed  to  be  the  guardian.  Some  fifty  years'  experi- 
ence of  Mr.  Sheratt  as  boy  and  man  had  let  Mr.  Rae 
into  a  somewhat  intimate  knowledge  of  the  workings  of 
that  gentleman's  mind.  Under  the  mollifying  influences 
of  the  finest  of  old  port,  Mr.  Rae  made  the  discovery  that 
as  with  Mr.  Thomlinson,  so  with  Mr.  Sheratt  there  was 
every  disposition  to  oblige,  and  indeed  an  eagerness  to 
yield  to  the  lawyer's  desires;  it  was  not  Mr.  Sheratt, 
but  the  Bank  that  was  immovable.  Firm-fixed  it 


44  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

stood  upon  its  bedrock  of  tradition  that  in  matters  of 
fraud,  crime  should  be  punished  to  the  full  limit  of 
the  law. 

"The  estate  of  the  criminal,  high  or  low,"  said  Mr. 
Sheratt  impressively,  "matters  not.  The  Bank  stands 
upon  the  principle,  and  from  this  it  cannot  be  moved." 
Mr.  Sheratt  began  to  wax  eloquent.  "Fidelity  to  its 
constituency,  its  shareholders,  its  depositors,  indeed  to 
the  general  public,  is  the  corner-stone  of  its  policy. 
The  Bank  of  Scotland  is  a  National  Institution,  with 
a  certain  National  obligation." 

Mr.  Rae  quietly  drew  from  his  pocket  a  pamphlet, 
opened  it  slowly,  and  glanced  at  the  page.  "Ay,  it's  as 
I  thought,  Mr.  Sheratt,"  he  said  dryly.  "At  times  I 
wondered  where  Sir  Archibald  got  his  style." 

Mr.  Sheratt  blushed  like  a  boy  caught  copying. 

"But  now  since  I  know  who  it  is  that  writes  the  speech 
of  the  Chairman  of  the  Board  of  Directors,  tell  me, 
Sheratt,  as  man  to  man,  is  it  you  or  is  it  Sir  Archibald 
that's  at  the  back  of  this  prosecution?  For  if  it  is  you, 
I've  something  to  say  to  you ;  if  not,  I'll  just  say  it  where 
it's  most  needed.  In  some  way  or  other  I'm  bound  to  see 
this  thing  through.  That  boy  can't  go  to  prison.  Now 
tell  me,  Tom?  It's  for  auld  sake's  sake." 

"As  sure  as  death,  Rae,  it's  the  Chairman,  and  it's 
God's  truth  I'm  telling  ye,  though  I  should  not."  They 
were  back  again  into  the  speech  and  spirit  of  their  boy- 
hood days. 

"Then  I  must  see  Sir  Archibald.  Give  me  time  to  see 
him,  Tom." 

"It's  a  waste  of  time,  I'm  tellin'  ye,  but  two  days  I'll 
give  ye,  Sandy,  for  auld  sake's  sake,  as  you  say.  A 
friendship  of  half  a  hundred  years  should  mean  some- 
thing to  us.  For  your  sake  I'd  let  the  lad  go,  God  knows, 


A    QUESTION    OF    HONOUR  45 

and  there's  my  ban'  upon  it,  but  as  I  said,  that  lies  with 
Sir  Archibald." 

The  old  friends  shook  hands  in  silence. 

"Thank  ye,  Tom,  thank  ye,"  said  Mr.  Rae ;  "I  knew  it." 

"But  barken  to  me,  ye7!!  no'  move  Sir  Archibald,  for 
on  this  particular  point  he's  quite  mad.  He'd  prosecute 
the  Duke  of  Argyll,  he  would.  But  two  days  are  yours, 
Sandy.  And  mind  with  Sir  Archibald  ye  treat  his  Bank 
with  reverence!  It's  a  National  Institution,  with  Na- 
tional obligations,  ye  ken?"  Mr.  Sheratt's  wink  con- 
veyed a  volume  of  meaning.  "And  mind  you,  Rae,"  here 
Mr.  Sheratt  grew  grave,  "I  am  trusting  you  to  produce 
that  lad  when  wanted." 

"I  have  him  in  safe  keeping,  Tom,  and  shall  produce 
him,  no  fear." 

And  with  that  the  two  old  gentlemen  parted,  loyal  to 
a  lifelong  friendship,  but  loyal  first  to  the  trust  of  those 
they  stood  pledged  to  serve ;  for  the  friendship  that  gives 
first  place  to  honour  is  the  only  friendship  that  honour- 
able men  can  hold. 

Mr.  Rae  set  off  for  his  office  through  the  drizzling  rain. 
"Now  then,  for  the  Captain,"  he  said  to  himself;  "and 
a  state  he  will  be  in !  Why  did  I  ever  summon  him  to 
town?  Then  for  Mr.  Dunn,  who  must  keep  his  eye  upon 
the  young  man." 

In  his  office  he  found  Captain  Cameron  in  a  state  of 
distraction  that  rendered  him  incapable  of  either  coher- 
ent thought  or  speech.  "What  now,  Rae?  Where  have 
you  been?  What  news  have  you?  My  God,  this  thing 
is  driving  me  mad !  Penal  servitude !  Think  of  it,  man, 
for  my  son !  Oh,  the  scandal  of  it !  It  will  kill  me  and 
kill  his  sister.  What's  your  report?  Come,  out  with 
it!  Have  you  seen  Mr.  Sheratt?"  He  was  pacing  up 
and  down  the  office  like  a  beast  in  a  cage. 


46  COBPOBALCAMEBON 

"Tut,  tut,  Captain  Cameron,"  said  Mr.  Bae  lightly, 
"this  is  no  way  for  a  soldier  to  face  the  enemy.  Sit  down 
and  we  will  just  lay  out  our  campaign." 

But  the  Captain's  soldiering,  which  was  of  the  light- 
est, had  taught  him  little  either  of  the  spirit  or  of  the 
tactics  of  warfare.  "Campaign !"  he  exclaimed.  "There's 
no  campaign  about  it.  It's  a  complete  smash,  horse, 
foot,  and  artillery." 

"Nonsense,  Captain  Cameron!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Bae 
more  briskly  than  his  wont,  for  the  Captain  irritated 
him.  "We  have  still  fighting  to  do,  and  hence  we  must 
plan  our  campaign.  But  first  let  us  get  comfortable. 
Here  Davie,"  he  called,  opening  the  office  door,  "here, 
mend  this  fire.  It's  a  winter's  day  this,"  he  continued 
to  the  Captain,  "and  goes  to  the  marrow." 

Davie,  a  wizened,  clean-shaven,  dark-visaged  little 
man,  appeared  with  a  scuttle  of  coal.  "Ay,  Davie;  that's 
it!  Is  that  cannel?" 

"Ay,  Sir,  it  is.    What  else?    I  aye  get  the  cannel." 

"That's  right,  Davie.    It's  a  gran'  coal." 

"Gran'  it's  no',"  said  Davie  shortly,  who  was  a  fierce 
radical  in  politics,  and  who  strove  to  preserve  his  sense 
of  independence  of  all  semblance  of  authority  by  culti- 
vating a  habit  of  disagreement.  "Gran'  it's  no',"  he  re- 
peated, ."but  it's  the  best  the  Farquhars  hae,  though 
that's  no'  saying  much.  It's  no'  what  I  call  cannel." 

"Well,  well,  Davie,  it  blazes  finely  at  any  rate,"  said 
Mr.  Bae,  determined  to  be  cheerful,  and  rubbing  his 
hands  before  the  blazing  coal. 

"Ay,  it  bleezes,"  grumbled  Davie,  "when  it's  no* 
smootherin'." 

"Come  then,  Davie,  that  will  do.  Clear  out,"  said 
Mr.  Bae  to  the  old  servant,  who  was  cleaning  up  the 
hearth  with  great  diligence  and  care. 


A    QUESTION    OF    HONOUR  47 

But  Davie  was  not  to  be  hurried.  He  had  his  regular 
routine  in  fire-mending,  from  which  no  power  could 
move  him.  "Ay,  Sir,"  he  muttered,  brushing  away  with 
his  feather  besom.  "I'll  clear  oot  when  I  clear  up. 
When  a  thing's  no'  dune  richt  it's  no  dune  ava." 

"True,  Davie,  true  enough;  that's  a  noble  sentiment. 
But  will  that  no'  do  now?"  Mr.  Bae  knew  himself  to 
be  helpless  in  Davie's  hands,  and  he  knew  also  that  noth- 
ing short  of  violence  would  hasten  Davie  from  his 
"usual." 

"Ay,  that'll  dae,  because  it's  richt  dune.  But  that's 
no'  what  I  call  cannel,"  grumbled  Davie,  glowering 
fiercely  at  the  burning  coal,  as  if  meditating  a  fresh 
attack. 

"Well,  well,"  said  Mr.  Eae,  "tell  the  Farquhars  about 
it." 

"Ay,  Sir,  I  will  that,"  said  Davie,  as  he  reluctantly 
took  himself  off  with  his  scuttle  and  besom. 

The  Captain  was  bursting  with  fretful  impatience. 
"Impudent  old  rascal !"  he  exclaimed.  "Why  don't  you 
dismiss  him?" 

"Dismiss  him!"  echoed  Mr.  Rae  in  consternation. 
"Dismiss  him !"  he  repeated,  as  if  pondering  an  entirely 
new  idea.  "I  doubt  if  Davie  would  consider  that.  But 
now  let  us  to  work."  He  set  two  arm-chairs  before  the 
fire,  and  placed  a  box  of  cigars  by  the  Captain's  elbow. 
"I  have  seen  Sheratt,"  he  began.  "I'm  quite  clear  it  is 
not  in  his  hands." 

"In  whose  then?"  burst  forth  the  Captain. 

Mr.  Rae  lit  his  cigar  carefully.  "The  whole  matter, 
I  believe,  lies  now  with  the  Chairman  of  the  Board  of 
Directors,  Sir  Archibald  Brodie." 

"Brodie!"  cried  the  Captain.  "I  know  him.  Pom- 
pous little  fool !" 


48 


CORPORAL    CAMERON 


"Fool,  Captain  Cameron!  Make  no  mistake.  Sir 
Archibald  may  have — ah — the  self-importance  of  a  self- 
made  man  somewhat  under  the  average  height,  but  he 
is,  without  doubt,  the  best  financier  that  stands  at  this 
moment  in  Scotland,  and  during  the  last  fifteen  years 
he  has  brought  up  the  Bank  of  Scotland  to  its  present 
position.  Fool!  He's  anything  but  that.  But  he  has 
his  weak  spots — I  wish  I  knew  what  they  were!— 
and  these  we  must  seek  to  find  out.  Do  you  know  him 
well?" 

"Oh,  yes,  quite  well,"  said  the  Captain ;  "that  is,  I've 
met  him  at  various  functions,  where  he  always  makes 
speeches.  Very  common,  I  call  him.  I  know  his  father ; 
a  mere  cottar.  I  mean,"  added  the  Captain  hurriedly, 
for  he  remembered  that  Mr.  Rae  was  of  the  same  humble 
origin,  "you  know,  he  is  thoroughly  respectable  and  all 
that,  but  of  no — ah — social  or  family  standing;  that 
is — oh,  you  understand." 

"Quite,"  said  Mr.  Rae  drily. 

"Yes,  I  shall  see  him,"  continued  the  Captain  briskly. 
"I  shall  certainly  see  him.  It  is  a  good  suggestion.  Sir 
Archibald  knows  my  family ;  indeed,  his  father  was  from 
the  Erracht  region.  I  shall  see  him  personally.  I  am 
glad  you  thought  of  that,  Mr.  Rae.  These  smaller  men, 
Sheratt  and  the  rest,  I  do  not  know — in  fact,  I  do  not 
seem  to  be  able  to  manage  them, — but  with  Sir  Archi- 
bald there  will  be  no  difficulty,  I  feel  quite  confident. 
When  can  you  arrange  the  interview?" 

Mr.  Rae  sat  gazing  thoughtfully  into  the  fire,  more 
and  more  convinced  every  moment  that  he  had  made  a 
false  move  in  suggesting  a  meeting  between  the  Captain 
and  Sir  Archibald  Brodie.  But  labour  as  he  might  he 
could  not  turn  the  Captain  from  his  purpose.  He  was 
resolved  to  see  Sir  Archibald  at  the  earliest  moment, 


A    QUESTION    OF    HONOUR  49 

and  of  the  result  of  the  meeting  he  had  no  manner  of 
doubt. 

"He  knew  my  family,  Sir,"  insisted  -the  Captain.  "Sir 
Archibald  will  undoubtedly  accede  to  my  suggestion 
— ah — request  to  withdraw  his  action.  Arrange  it,  Mr. 
Rae,  arrange  it  at  once." 

And  ruefully  enough  Mr.  Kae  was  compelled  to  yield 
against  his  better  judgment. 

It  was  discovered  upon  inquiry  that  Sir  Archibald 
had  gone  for  a  day  or  two  to  his  country  estate.  "Ah, 
much  better,"  said  the  Captain,  "away  from  his  office 
and  away  from  the — ah — commercial  surroundings  of 
the  city.  Much  better,  much  better!  We  shall  proceed 
to  his  country  home." 

Of  the  wisdom  of  this  proposal  Mr.  Rae  was  doubt- 
ful. There  seemed,  however,  no  other  way  open.  Hence, 
the  following  morning  found  them  on  their  way  to  Sir 
Archibald's  country  seat.  Mr.  Rae  felt  that  it  was  an 
unusual  course  to  pursue,  but  the  time  was  short,  the 
occasion  was  gravely  critical,  and  demanded  extreme 
measures. 

During  their  railway  journey  Mr.  Rae  strove  to  im- 
press upon  the  Captain's  mind  the  need  of  diplomacy. 
"Sir  Archibald  is  a  man  of  strong  prejudices,"  he  urged; 
"for  instance,  his  Bank  he  regards  with  an  affection  and 
respect  amounting  to  veneration.  He  is  a  bachelor,  you 
understand,  and  his  Bank  is  to  him  wife  and  bairns.  On 
no  account  must  you  treat  his  Bank  lightly." 

"Oh,  certainly  not,"  replied  the  Captain,  who  was 
inclined  to  resent  Mr.  Rae's  attempts  to  school  him  in 
diplomacy. 

"He  is  a  great  financier,"  continued  Mr.  Rae,  "and 
with  him  finance  is  a  high  art,  and  financial  integrity  a 
sacred  obligation." 


50  CORPOBALCAMEKON 

"Oh,  certainly,  certainly,"  again  replied  the  Captain, 
quite  unimpressed  by  this  aspect  of  the  matter,  for  while 
he  considered  himself  distinctly  a  man  of  affairs,  yet  his 
interests  lay  more  in  matters  of  great  public  moment. 
Commercial  enterprises  he  regarded  with  a  feeling  akin 
to  contempt.  Money  was  an  extremely  desirable,  and 
indeed  necessary,  appendage  to  a  gentleman's  position, 
but  how  any  man  of  fine  feeling  could  come  to  regard  a 
financial  institution  with  affection  or  veneration  he  was 
incapable  of  conceiving.  However,  he  was  prepared  to 
deal  considerately  with  Sir  Archibald's  peculiar  preju- 
dices in  this  matter. 

Mr.  Eae's  forebodings  as  to  the  outcome  of  the  ap- 
proaching interview  were  of  the  most  gloomy  nature  as 
they  drove  through  the  finely  appointed  and  beautifully 
kept  grounds  of  Sir  Archibald  Brodie's  estate.  The 
interview  began  inauspiciously.  Sir  Archibald  received 
them  with  stiff  courtesy.  He  hated  to  be  pursued  to  his 
country  home  with  business  matters.  Besides,  at  this 
particular  moment  he  was  deeply  engrossed  in  the  in- 
spection of  his  pigs,  for  which  animals  he  cherished 
what  might  almost  be  called  an  absorbing  affection.  Mr. 
Kae,  who  was  proceeding  with  diplomatic  caution  and 
skill  to  approach  the  matter  in  hand  by  way  of  Sir 
Archibald's  Wiltshires,  was  somewhat  brusquely  inter- 
rupted by  the  Captain,  who,  in  the  firm  conviction  that 
he  knew  much  better  than  did  the  lawyer  how  to  deal 
with  a  man  of  his  own  class,  plunged  at  once  into  the 
subject. 

"Awfully  sorry  to  introduce  business  matters,  Sir 
Archibald,  to  the  attention  of  a  gentleman  in  the  privacy 
of  his  own  home,  but  there  is  a  little  matter  in  connec- 
tion with  the  Bank  in  which  I  am  somewhat  deeply  in- 
terested." 


A    QUESTION    OF    HONOUB  51 

Sir  Archibald  bowed  in  silence. 

"Rather,  I  should  say,  it  concerns  my  son,  and  there- 
fore, Sir  Archibald,  myself  and  my  family." 

Again  Sir  Archibald  bowed. 

"It  is,  after  all,  a  trivial  matter,  which  I  have  no 
doubt  can  be  easily  arranged  between  us.  The  truth  is, 
Sir  Archibald — ,"  here  the  Captain  hesitated,  as  if  ex- 
periencing some  difficulty  in  stating  the  case. 

"Perhaps  Captain  Cameron  will  allow  me  to  place 
the  matter  before  you,  Sir  Archibald,"  suggested  Mr. 
Rae,  "as  it  has  a  legal  aspect  of  some  gravity,  indeed  of 
very  considerable  gravity.  It  is  the  case  of  young  Mr. 
Cameron." 

"Ah,"  said  Sir  Archibald  shortly.  "Forgery  case,  I 
believe." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Rae,  "we  have  not  been  able  as  yet 
to  get  at  the  bottom  of  it.  I  confess  that  the  case  has 
certainly  very  grave  features  connected  with  it,  but  it 
is  by  no  means  clear  that — " 

"There  is  no  need  for  further  statement,  Mr.  Rae," 
said  Sir  Archibald.  "I  know  all  about  it.  It  is  a  clear 
case  of  forgery.  The  facts  have  all  been  laid  before  me, 
and  I  have  given  my  instructions." 

"And  what  may  these  be,  may  I  inquire?"  said  the 
Captain  somewhat  haughtily. 

"The  usual  instructions,  Sir,  where  the  Bank  of  Scot- 
land is  concerned, — instructions  to  prosecute."  Sir 
Archibald's  lips  shut  in  a  firm,  thin  line.  As  far  as  he 
was  concerned  the  matter  was  closed. 

"But,  Sir,"  exclaimed  the  Captain,  "this  young  man  is 
my  son." 

"I  deeply  regret  it,"  replied  Sir  Archibald. 

"Yes,  Sir,  he  is  my  son,  and  the  honour  of  my  family 
is  involved." 


52  CORPORAL    CAM  EBON 

Sir  Archibald  bowed. 

"I  am  here  prepared  to  offer  the  fullest  reparation,  to 
offer  the  most  generous  terms  of  settlement;  in  short, 
I  am  willing  to  do  anything  in  reason  to  have  this  mat- 
ter— this  unfortunate  matter — hushed  up." 

"Hushed  up!"  exclaimed  Sir  Archibald.  "Captain 
Cameron,  it  is  impossible.  I  am  grieved  for  you,  but  I 
have  a  duty  to  the  Bank  in  this  matter." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,  Sir,"  cried  the  Captain,  "that 
you  refuse  to  consider  any  arrangement  or  compromise 
or  settlement  of  any  kind  whatever?  I  am  willing  to 
pay  the  amount  ten  times  over,  rather  than  have  my 
name  dragged  through  legal  proceedings." 

"It  is  quite  impossible,"  said  Sir  Archibald. 

"Come,  come,  Sir  Archibald,"  said  the  Captain,  exer- 
cising an  unusual  self-control ;  "let  us  look  at  this  thing 
as  two  gentlemen  should  who  respect  each  other,  and 
who  know  what  is  due  to  our — ah — class." 

It  was  an  unfortunate  remark  of  the  Captain's, 

"Our  class,  Sir?  I  presume  you  mean  the  class  of 
gentlemen.  All  that  is  due  to  our  class  or  any  other 
class  is  strict  justice,  and  that  you,  Sir,  or  any  other 
gentleman,  shall  receive  to  the  very  fullest  in  this  mat- 
ter. The  honour  of  the  Bank,  which  I  regard  as  a  great 
National  Institution  charged  with  National  responsi- 
bilities, is  involved,  as  is  also  my  own  personal  honour. 
I  sincerely  trust  your  son  may  be  cleared  of  every  charge 
of  crime,  but  this  case  must  be  prosecuted  to  the  very 
fullest  degree." 

"And  do  you  mean  to  tefl  me,  Sir  Archibald,"  ex- 
claimed the  Captain,  now  in  a  furious  passion,  "that  for 
the  sake  of  a  few  paltry  pounds  you  will  blast  my  name 
and  my  family  name  in  this  country? — a  name,  I  ven- 
ture to  say,  not  unknown  in  the  history  of  this  nation. 


A    QUESTION    OF    HONOUR  53 

The  Camerons,  Sir,  have  fought  and  bled  for  King  and 
country  on  many  a  battlefield.  What  matters  the  ques- 
tion of  a  few  pounds  in  comparison  with  the  honour  of 
an  ancient  and  honourable  name?  You  cannot  persist 
in  this  attitude,  Sir  Archibald!" 

"Pounds,  Sir!"  cried  Sir  Archibald,  now  thoroughly 
aroused  by  the  contemptuous  reference  to  what  to  him 
was  dearer  than  anything  in  life.  "Pounds,  Sir!  It  is 
no  question  of  pounds,  but  a  question  of  the  honour  of  a 
National  Institution,  a  question  of  the  lives  and  happi- 
ness of  hundreds  of  widows  and  orphans,  a  question  of 
the  honour  of  a  name  which  I  hold  as  dear  as  you  hold 
yours." 

Mr.  Kae  was  in  despair.  He  laid  a  restraining  hand 
upon  the  Captain,  and  with  difficulty  obtained  permis- 
sion to  speak.  "Sir  Archibald,  I  crave  your  indulgence 
while  I  put  this  matter  to  you  as  to  a  business  man.  In 
the  first  place,  there  is  no  evidence  that  fraud  has  been 
committed  by  young  Mr.  Cameron,  absolutely  none. — 
Pardon  me  a  moment,  Sir  Archibald. — The  fraud  has 
been  committed,  I  grant,  by  someone,  but  by  whom  is 
as  yet  unknown.  The  young  man  for  some  weeks  has 
been  in  a  state  of  incapacity ;  a  most  blameworthy  and 
indeed  shameful  condition,  it  is  true,  but  in  a  state  of 
incapacity  to  transact  business.  He  declares  that  he 
has  no  knowledge  of  this  act  of  forgery.  He  will  swear 
this.  I  am  prepared  to  defend  him." 

"Very  well,  Sir,"  interrupted  Sir  Archibald,  "and  I 
hope,  I  sincerely  hope,  successfully." 

"But  wrhile  it  may  be  difficult  to  establish  innocence, 
it  will  be  equally  difficult  to  establish  guilt.  Meantime, 
the  young  man's  life  is  blighted,  his  name  dishonoured, 
his  family  plunged  into  unspeakable  grief.  I  venture  to 
say  that  it  is  a  case  in  which  the  young  man  might  be 


54  COKPOKAL    CAMERON 

given,  without  injury  to  the  Bank,  or  without  breaking 
through  its  traditional  policy,  the  benefit  of  the  doubt." 

But  Sir  Archibald  had  been  too  deeply  stirred  by 
Captain  Cameron's  unfortunate  remarks  to  calmly  weigh 
Mr.  Kae's  presentation  of  the  case.  "It  is  quite  useless, 
Mr.  Kae,"  he  declared  firmly.  "The  case  is  out  of  my 
hands,  and  must  be  proceeded  with.  I  sincerely  trust 
you  may  be  able  to  establish  the  young  man's  innocence. 
I  have  nothing  more  to  say." 

And  from  this  position  neither  Mr.  Bae's  arguments 
nor  the  Captain's  passionate  pleadings  could  move  him. 

Throughout  the  return  journey  the  Captain  raged 
and  swore.  "A  contemptible  cad,  Sir !  a  base-born,  low- 
bred cad,  Sir !  What  else  could  you  expect  from  a  fellow 
of  his  breeding?  The  insolence  of  these  lower  orders 
is  becoming  insupportable.  The  idea!  the  very  idea! 
His  bank  against  my  family  name,  my  family  honour! 
Preposterous !" 

"Honour  is  honour,  Captain  Cameron,"  replied  Mr. 
Bae  firmly,  "and  it  might  have  been  better  if  you  had 
remembered  that  the  honour  of  a  cottar's  son  is  as  dear 
to  him  as  yours  is  to  you." 

And  such  was  Mr.  Rae's  manner  that  the  Captain 
appeared  to  consider  it  wise  to  curb  his  rage,  or  at  least 
suppress  all  reference  to  questions  of  honour  in  as  far 
as  they  might  be  related  to  the  question  of  birth  and 
breeding. 


ALADY     AND    THE    LAW  55 

CHAPTER  V 

A  LADY  AND  THE  LAW 

MR.  RAE'S  first  care  was  to  see  Mr.  Dunn.  This 
case  was  getting  rather  more  trying  to  Mr. 
Rae's  nerves  than  he  cared  to  acknowledge. 
For  a  second  time  he  had  been  humiliated,  and  humilia- 
tion was  an  experience  to  which  Mr.  Rae  was  not  accus- 
tomed. It  was  in  a  distinctly  wrathful  frame  of  mind 
that  he  called  upon  Mr.  Dunn,  and  the  first  quarter  of 
an  hour  of  his  interview  he  spent  in  dilating  upon  his 
own  folly  in  having  allowed  Captain  Cameron  to  accom- 
pany him  on  his  visit  to  Sir  Archibald. 

"In  forty  years  I  never  remember  having  made  such 
an  error,  Sir.  This  was  an  occasion  for  diplomacy.  We 
should  have  taken  time.  We  should  have  discovered  his 
weak  spots;  every  man  has  them.  Now  it  is  too  late. 
The  only  thing  left  for  us  is  fight,  and  the  best  we  can 
hope  for  is  a  verdict  of  not  proven,  and  that  leaves  a 
stigma." 

"It  is  terrible,"  said  Mr.  Dunn,  "and  I  believe  he  is 
innocent.  Have  you  thought  of  Potts,  Sir?" 

"I  have  had  Potts  before  me,"  said  Mr.  Rae,  "and 
I  may  safely  say  that  though  he  strikes  me  as  being  a 
man  of  unusual  cleverness,  we  can  do  nothing  with  Mr. 
Potts.  Of  course,"  added  Mr.  Rae  hastily,  "this  is  not 
to  say  we  shall  not  make  use  of  Mr.  Potts  in  the  trial, 
but  Mr.  Potts  can  show  from  his  books  debts  amounting 
to  nearly  sixty  pounds.  He  frankly  acknowledges  the 
pleasantry  in  suggesting  the  raising  of  the  five-pound 
cheque  to  fifty  pounds,  but  of  the  act  itself  he  professes 
entire  ignorance.  I  frankly  own  to  you,  Sir,"  continued 
Mr.  Rae,  folding  his  ear  into  a  horn  after  his  manner 


56  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

when  in  perplexity,  "that  this  case  puzzles  me.  I  must 
not  take  your  time,"  he  said,  shaking  Mr.  Dunn  warmly 
by  the  hand.  "One  thing  more  I  must  ask  you,  however, 
and  that  is,  keep  in  touch  with  young  Cameron.  I  have 
pledged  my  honour  to  produce  him  when  wanted.  Fur- 
thermore, keep  him — ah — in  good  condition;  cheer  him 
up ;  nerve  him  up ;  much  depends  upon  his  manner." 

Gravely  Mr.  Dunn  accepted  the  trust,  though  whether 
he  could  fulfil  it  he  doubted.  "Keep  him  cheerful,"  said 
Mr.  Dunn  to  himself,  as  the  door  closed  upon  Mr.  Rae. 
"Nice  easy  job,  too,  under  the  circumstances.  Let's  see, 
what  is  there  on?  By  Jove,  if  I  could  only  bring  him!" 
There  flashed  into  Mr.  Dunn's  mind  the  fact  that  he  was 
due  that  evening  at  a  party  for  students,  given  by  one  of 
the  professors,  belated  beyond  the  period  proper  to  such 
functions  by  one  of  those  domestic  felicities  which  claim 
right  of  way  over  all  other  human  events.  At  this  party 
Cameron  was  also  due.  It  was  hardly  likely,  however, 
that  he  would  attend.  But  to  Dunn's  amazement  he 
found  Cameron,  with  a  desperate  jollity  such  as  a  man 
might  feel  the  night  before  his  execution,  eager  to  go. 

"I'm  going,"  he  cried,  in  answer  to  Dunn's  somewhat 
timid  suggestion.  "They'll  all  be  there,  old  man,  and  I 
shall  make  my  exit  with  much  6clat,  with  pipe  and  dance 
and  all  the  rest  of  it.'* 

"Exit,  be  blowed!"  said  Dunn  impatiently.  "Let's 
cut  all  this  nonsense  out.  We're  going  into  a  fight  for 
all  there's  in  us.  Why  should  a  fellow  throw  up  the 
sponge  after  the  first  round?" 

"Fight!"  said  Cameron  gloomily.  "Did  old  Rae  say 
so?" 

"Most  decidedly." 

"And  what  defence  does  he  suggest?" 

"Defence?    Innocence,  of  course." 


ALADY    AND    THE    LAW  57 

"Would  to  God  I  could  back  him  up !"  groaned  Cam- 
eron. 

Dunn  gazed  at  him  in  dismay.  "And  can  you  not? 
You  do  not  mean  to  tell  me  you  are  guilty?" 

"Oh,  I  wish  to  heaven  I  knew !"  cried  Cameron  wildly. 
"But  there,  let  it  go.  Let  the  lawyers  and  the  judge 
puzzle  it  out.  'Guilty  or  not  guilty?'  'Hanged  if  I 
know,  my  lord.  Looks  like  guilty,  but  don't  see  very 
well  how  I  can  be.'  That  will  bother  old  Rae  some;  it 
would  bother  Old  Nick  himself.  'Did  you  forge  this 
note?'  'My  lord,  my  present  ego  recognizes  no  intent 
to  forge;  my  alter  ego  in  vino  may  have  done  so.  Of 
that,  however,  I  know  nothing ;  it  lies  in  that  mysterious 
region  of  the  subconscious.'  'Are  you,  then,  guilty?' 
'Guilt,  my  lord,  lies  in  intent.  Intent  is  the  soul  of 
crime.'  It  will  be  an  interesting  point  for  Mr.  Kae  and 
his  lordship." 

"Look  here,  old  chap,"  asked  Dunn  suddenly,  "what 
of  Potts  in  this  business?" 

"Potts!  Oh,  hang  it,  Dunn,  I  can't  drag  Potts  into 
this.  It  would  be  altogether  too  low-down  to  throw  sus- 
picion upon  a  man  without  the  slightest  ground.  Potts 
is  not  exactly  a  lofty-souled  creature.  In  fact,  he  is 
pronouncedly  a  bounder,  though  I  confess  I  did  borrow 
money  of  him ;  but  I'd  borrow  money  of  the  devil  when 
I'm  in  certain  moods.  A  man  may  be  a  bounder,  how- 
ever, without  being  a  criminal.  No,  I  have  thought  this 
thing  out  as  far  as  I  can,  and  I've  made  my  mind  up 
that  I've  got  to  face  it  myself.  I've  been  a  fool,  ah,  such 
a  fool!"  A  shudder  shook  his  frame.  "Oh,  Dunn,  old 
man,  I  don't  mind  for  myself,  I  can  go  out  easily  enough, 
but  it's  my  little  sister!  It  will  break  her  heart,  and 
she  has  no  one  else ;  she  will  have  to  bear  it  all  alone." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Cameron?"  asked  Dunn  sharply. 


58  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

Cameron  sprang  to  his  feet.  "Let  it  go,"  he  cried. 
"Let  it  go  for  to-night,  anyway."  He  seized  a  decanter 
which  stood  all  too  ready  to  his  hand,  but  Dunn  inter- 
posed. 

"Listen  to  me,  old  man,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  of  grave 
and  earnest  sadness,  while  he  pushed  Cameron  back  into 
a  chair.  "We  have  a  desperately  hard  game  before  us, 
you  and  I, — this  is  my  game,  too, — and  we  must  be  fit; 
BO,  Cameron,  I  want  your  word  that  you  will  play  up  for 
all  that's  in  you ;  that  you  will  cut  this  thing  out,"  point- 
ing to  the  decanter,  "and  will  keep  fit  to  the  last  fighting 
minute.  I  am  asking  you  this,  Cameron.  You  owe  it 
to  yourself,  you  owe  it  to  me,  you  owe  it  to  your  sister." 

For  some  moments  Cameron  sat  gazing  straight  before 
him,  his  face  showing  the  agony  in  his  soul.  "As  God's 
above,  I  do !  I  owe  it  to  you,  Dunn,  and  to  her,  and  to 
the  memory  of  my — "  But  his  quivering  lips  could  not 
utter  the  word;  and  there  was  no  need,  for  they  both 
knew  that  his  heart  was  far  away  in  the  little  mound 
that  lay  in  the  shadow  of  the  church  tower  in  the  Cuagh 
Oir.  The  lad  rose  to  his  feet,  and  stretching  out  his 
hand  to  Dunn  cried,  "There's  my  hand  and  my  honour 
as  a  Highlander,  and  until  the  last  fighting  moment  I'll 
be  fit." 

At  the  party  that  night  none  was  gayer  than  young 
Cameron.  The  shy  reserve  that  usually  marked  him  was 
thrust  aside.  His  fine,  lithe  figure,  set  off  by  his  High- 
land costume,  drew  all  eyes  in  admiration,  and  whether 
in  the  proud  march  of  the  piper,  or  in  the  wild  abandon 
of  the  Highland  Fling,  he  seemed  to  all  the  very  beau 
ideal  of  a  gallant  Highland  gentleman. 

Dunn  stood  in  the  circle  gathered  to  admire,  watching 
Cameron's  performance  of  that  graceful  and  intricate 
Highland  dance,  all  unconscious  of  a  pair  of  bright  blue 


A   LADY    AND   THE   LAW  59 

eyes  fastened  on  his  face  that  reflected  so  manifestly  the 
grief  and  pain  in  his  heart. 

"And  wherefore  this  gloom?"  said  a  gay  voice  at  his 
side.  It  was  Miss  Bessie  Brodie. 

Poor  Dunn!  He  was  not  skilled  in  the  fine  art  of 
social  deception.  He  could  only  gaze  stupidly  and  with 
blinking  eyes  upon  his  questioner,  devoutly  hoping 
meanwhile  that  the  tears  would  not  fall. 

"Splendid  Highlander,  isn't  he?"  exclaimed  Miss 
Bessie,  hastily  withdrawing  her  eyes  from  his  face,  for 
she  was  much  too  fine  a  lady  to  let  him  see  her  sur- 
prise. 

"What?"  exclaimed  Dunn.  "I  don't  know.  I  mean 
— yes,  awfully — oh,  confound  the  thing,  it's  a  beastly 
shame !" 

Thereupon  Miss  Bessie  turned  her  big  blue  eyes 
slowly  upon  him.  "Meaning  what?"  she  said  quietly. 

"Oh,  I  beg  pardon.  I'm  just  a  fool.  Oh,  hang  it  all !" 
Dunn  could  not  recover  his  composure.  He  backed  out 
of  the  circle  of  admirers  into  a  darker  corner. 

"Fool?"  said  Miss  Brodie,  stepping  back  with  him. 
"And  why,  pray?  Can  I  know?  I  suppose  it's  Cam- 
eron again,"  she  continued.  "Oh,  I  know  all  about  you 
and  your  mothering  of  him." 

"Mothering !"  said  Dunn  bitterly.  "That  is  just  what 
he  needs,  by  Jove.  His  mother  has  been  dead  these  five 
years,  and  that's  been  the  ruin  of  him." 

The  cheers  from  Cameron's  admirers  broke  in  upon 
Dunn's  speech.  "Oh,  it's  too  ghastly,"  he  muttered. 

"Is  it  really  so  bad?  Can't  I  help?"  cried  Miss  Brodie. 
"You  know  I've  had  some  experience  with  boys." 

As  Dunn  looked  into  her  honest,  kindly  eyes  he  hesi- 
tated. Should  he  tell  her?  He  was  in  sore  need  of 
counsel,  and  besides  he  was  at  the  limit  of  his  self-con- 


60  CORPORAL    CAM EBON 

trol.  "I  say,"  he  said,  staring  at  her,  while  his  lips 
quivered,  "I'd  like  awfully  to  tell  you,  but  I  know  if  I 
ever  begin  I  shall  just  burst  into  tears  before  this  gaping 
crowd." 

"Tears  I"  exclaimed  Miss  Bessie.  "Not  you !  And  if 
you  did  it  wouldn't  hurt  either  them  or  you.  An  Inter- 
national captain  possesses  this  advantage  over  other 
mortals :  that  he  may  burst  into  tears  or  anything  else 
without  losing  caste,  whereas  if  I  should  do  any  such 
thing —  But  come,  let's  get  somewhere  and  talk  it  over. 
Now,  then,"  said  Miss  Brodie  as  they  found  a  quiet 
corner,  "first  of  all,  ought  I  to  know?" 

"You'll  know,  all  Edinburgh  wrill  know  the  day  after 
to-morrow,"  said  Dunn. 

"All  right,  then,  it  can't  do  any  harm  for  me  to  know 
to-night.  It  possibly  may  do  good." 

"It  will  do  me  good,  anyway,"  said  Dunn,  "for  I  have 
reached  my  limit." 

Then  Dunn  told  her,  and  while  she  listened  she  grew 
grave  and  anxious.  "But  surely  it  can  be  arranged!" 
she  exclaimed,  after  he  had  finished. 

"No,  Mr.  Kae  has  tried  everything.  The  Bank  is 
bound  to  pursue  it  to  the  bitter  end.  It  is  apparently  a 
part  of  its  policy." 

"What  Bank?" 

"The  Bank  of  Scotland." 

"Why,  that's  my  uncle's  Bank!  I  mean,  he  is  the 
Chairman  of  the  Board  of  Directors,  and  the  Bank  is  the 
apple  of  his  eye;  or  one  of  them,  I  mean — I'm  the  other." 

"Oh,  both,  I  fancy,"  said  Dunn,  rather  pleased  with 
his  own  courage. 

"But  come,  this  is  serious,"  said  Miss  Brodie.  "The 
Bank,  you  know,  or  you  don't  know,  is  my  uncle's  weak 
spot." 


A   LADY    AND    THE    LAW  61 

Mr.  Kae's  words  flashed  across  Dunn's  mind:  "We 
ought  to  have  found  his  weak  spots."  * 

"He  says,"  continued  Miss  Brodie  with  a  smile — "you 
know  he's  an  old  dear! — I  divide  his  heart  with  the 
Bank,  that  I  have  the  left  lobe.  Isn't  that  the  bigger 
one?  So  the  Bank  and  I  are  his  weak  spots;  unless  it 
is  his  Wiltshires — he  is  devoted  to  Wiltshires." 

"Wiltshires?" 

"Pigs.  There  are  times  when  I  feel  myself  distinctly 
second  to  them.  Are  you  sure  my  uncle  knows  all  about 
Cameron?" 

"Well,  Mr.  Rae  and  Captain  Cameron — that's  young 
Cameron's  father — went  out  to  his  place — " 

"Ah,  that  was  a  mistake,"  said  Miss  Brodie.  "He 
hates  people  following  him  to  the  country.  Well,  what 
happened?" 

"Mr.  Eae  feels  that  it  was  rather  a  mistake  that  Cap- 
tain Cameron  went  along." 

"Why  so?    He  is  his  father,  isn't  he?" 

"Yes,  he  is,  though  I'm  bound  to  say  he's  rather  queer 
for  a  father."  Whereupon  Dunn  gave  her  an  account 
of  his  interview  in  Mr.  Eae's  office. 

Miss  Brodie  was  indignant.  "What  a  shame!  And 
what  a  fool!  Why,  he  is  ten  times  more  fool  than  his 
son;  for  mark  you,  his  son  is  undoubtedly  a  fool,  and  a 
selfish  fool  at  that.  I  can't  bear  a  young  fool  who  sac- 
rifices not  simply  his  own  life,  but  the  interests  of  all  who 
care  for  him,  for  some  little  pet  selfishness  of  his  own. 
But  this  father  of  his  seems  to  be  even  worse  than  the 
son.  Family  name  indeed!  And  I  venture  to  say  he 
expatiated  upon  the  glory  of  his  family  name  to  my 
uncle.  If  there's  one  thing  that  my  uncle  goes  quite  mad 
about  it  is  this  affectation  of  superiority  on  the  ground 
of  the  colour  of  a  man's  blood!  No  wonder  he  refused 


62  CORPORAL    CAMEEON 

to  withdraw  the  prosecution !  What  could  Mr.  Rae  have 
been  thinking  about?  What  fools  men  are!" 

"Quite  true,"  murmured  Mr.  Dunn. 

"Some  men,  I  mean,"  cried  Miss  Brodie  hastily.  "I 
wish  to  heaven  I  had  seen  my  uncle  first !" 

"I  suppose  it's  too  late  now,"  said  Dunn,  with  a  kind 
of  gloomy  wistfulness. 

"Yes,  I  fear  so,"  said  Miss  Brodie.  "You  see  when  my 
uncle  makes  up  his  mind  he  appears  to  have  some  re- 
ligious scruples  against  changing  it." 

"It  was  a  ghastly  mistake,"  said  Dunn  bitterly. 

"Look  here,  Mr.  Dunn,"  said  Miss  Brodie,  turning 
upon  him  suddenly,  "I  want  your  straight  opinion.  Do 
you  think  this  young  man  guilty?" 

They  were  both  looking  at  Cameron,  at  that  moment 
the  centre  of  a  group  of  open  admirers,  his  boyish  face 
all  aglow  with  animation.  For  the  time  being  it  seemed 
as  if  he  had  forgotten  the  terrible  catastrophe  overhang- 
ing him. 

"If  I  hadn't  known  Cameron  for  three  years,"  replied 
Dunn  slowly,  "I  would  say  offhand  that  this  thing 
would  be  impossible  to  him ;  but  you  see  you  never  know 
what  a  man  in  drink  will  do.  Cameron  can  carry  a 
bottle  of  Scotch  without  a  stagger,  but  of  course  it 
knocks  his  head  all  to  pieces.  I  mean,  he  is  quite  inca- 
pable of  anything  like  clear  thought." 

"It  is  truly  terrible,"  said  Miss  Brodie.  "I  wish  I  had 
known  yesterday,  but  those  men  have  spoilt  it  all.  But 
here's  'Lily'  Laughton,"  she  continued  hurriedly,  "com- 
ing for  his  dance."  As  she  spoke  a  youth  of  willowy 
figure,  languishing  dark  eyes  and  ladylike  manner  drew 
near. 

"Well,  here  you  are  at  last !  What  a  hunt  I  have  had ! 
I  am  quite  exhausted,  I  assure  you,"  cried  the  youth, 


A   LADY    AND    THE   LAW  63 

fanning  himself  with  his  handkerchief.  "And  though 
you  have  quite  forgotten  it,  this  is  our  dance.  What  can 
you  two  have  been  talking  about?  But  why  ask?  There 
is  only  one  theme  upon  which  you  could  become  so 
terrifically  serious." 

"And  what  is  that,  pray?  Browning?"  inquired  Miss 
Brodie  sweetly. 

"Dear  Miss  Brodie,  if  you  only  would,  but — ugh ! — " 
here  "Lily"  shuddered,  "I  can  in  fancy  picture  the  gory 
scene  in  which  you  have  been  revelling  for  the  last 
hour !"  And  "Lily's"  handsome  face  and  languid,  liquid 
eyes  indicated  his  horror.  It  was  "Lily's"  constant 
declaration  that  he  "positively  loathed"  football, 
although  his  persistent  attendance  at  all  the  great 
matches  rather  belied  this  declaration.  "It  is  the  one 
thing  in  you,  Miss  Bessie,  that  I  deplore,  'the  fly  in  the 
pot — '  no,  'the  flaw — '  ah,  that's  better — 'the  flaw  in  the 
matchless  pearl.' " 

"How  sweet  of  you/'  murmured  Miss  Brodie. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  continued  "Lily,"  wreathing  his  taper- 
ing fingers,  "it  is  your  devotion  to  those  so-called  athletic 
games, — games!  ye  gods! — the  chief  qualifications  for 
excellence  in  which  appear  to  be  brute  strength  and  a 
blood-thirsty  disposition ;  as  witness  Dunn  there.  I  was 
positively  horrified  last  International.  There  he  was, 
our  own  quiet,  domestic,  gentle  Dunn,  raging  through 
that  howling  mob  of  savages  like  a  bloody  Bengal  tiger. 
— Kather  apt,  that! — •  A  truly  awful  and  degrading 
exhibition !" 

"Ah,  perfectly  lovely !"  murmured  Miss  Brodie  ecstat- 
ically. "I  can  see  him  yet." 

"Miss  Brodie,  how  can  you!"  exclaimed  "Lily,"  cast- 
ing up  his  eyes  in  horror  towards  heaven.  "But  it  was 
ever  thus!  In  ancient  days  upon  the  bloody  sands  of 


64  CORPORAL    CAM  EBON 

the  arena,  fair  ladies  were  wont  to  gaze  with  unrelenting 
eyes  and  thumbs  turned  down — or  up,  was  it — ?" 

"Excellent!  But  how  clever  of  them  to  gaze  with 
their  thumbs  in  that  way !" 

"Please  don't  interrupt,"  said  "Lily"  severely;  "I 
have  just  'struck  my  gait/  as  that  barbaric  young  Co- 
lonial, Martin,  another  of  your  bloody,  brawny  band, 
would  say.  And  here  you  sit,  unblushing,  glorying  in 
their  disgusting  deeds  and  making  love  open  and  un- 
abashed to  their  captain !" 

"Go  away,  'Lily'  or  I'll  hurt  you,"  cried  Dunn,  his 
face  a  brilliant  crimson.  "Come,  get  out !" 

"But  don't  be  uplifted,"  continued  "Lily,"  ignoring 
him,  "you  are  not  the  first.  By  no  means !  It  is  always 
the  last  International  captain,  and  has  been  to  my  cer- 
tain knowledge  for  the  last  ten  years." 

"Ten  years!"  exclaimed  Miss  Brodie  in  horrified  ac- 
cents. "You  monster!  If  you  have  no  regard  for  my 
character  you  might  at  least  respect  my  age." 

"Age!  Dear  Miss  Brodie,"  ejaculated  "Lily,"  "who 
could  ever  associate  age  with  your  perennial  youth?" 

"Perennial!  Wretch!  If  there  is  anything  I  am 
sensitive  about,  really  sensitive  about,  it  is  my  age !  Mr. 
Dunn,  I  beseech  you,  save  me  from  further  insult !  Dear 
'Lily,'  run  away  now.  You  are  much  too  tired  to  dance, 
and  besides  there  is  Mrs.  Craig-Urquhart  waiting  to 
talk  your  beloved  Wagner-Tennyson  theory;  or  what 
is  the  exact  combination?  Mendelssohn-Browning, 
is  it?" 

"Oh,  Miss  Bessie!"  cried  "Lily"  in  a  shocked  voice. 
"How  can  you?  Mendelssohn-Browning!  How  awful! 
Do  have  some  regard  for  the  affinities." 

"Mr.  Dunn,  I  implore  you,  save  me!  I  can  bear  no 
more.  There !  A  merciful  providence  has  accomplished 


ALADY     AND    THE    LAW  65 

my  deliverance.  They  are  going.  Good-night,  'Lily.' 
Hun  away  now.  I  want  a  word  with  Mr.  Dunn." 

"Oh,  heartless  cruelty !"  exclaimed  "Lily,"  in  an  agon- 
ised voice.  "But  what  can  you  expect  from  such  associa- 
tions?" And  he  hastened  away  to  have  a  last  word  with 
Mrs.  Craig-Urquhart,  who  was  swimming  languidly  by. 

Miss  Brodie  turned  eagerly  to  Dunn.  "I'd  like  to 
help  you  awfully,"  she  said ;  "indeed  I  must  try.  I  have 
very  little  hope.  My  uncle  is  so  strong  when  he  is  once 
set,  and  he  is  so  funny  about  that  Bank.  But  a  boy  is 
worth  more  than  a  Bank,  if  he  is  a  fool ;  besides,  there  is 
his  sister.  Good-night.  Thanks  for  letting  me  help.  I 
have  little  hope,  but  to-morrow  I  shall  see  Sir  Archibald, 
and — and  his  pigs." 

It  was  still  in  the  early  forenoon  of  the  following  day 
when  Miss  Brodie  greeted  her  uncle  as  he  was  about  to 
start  upon  his  round  of  the  pastures  and  pens  where  the 
Wiltshires  of  various  ages  and  sizes  and  sexes  were  kept. 
With  the  utmost  enthusiasm  Miss  Brodie  entered  into 
his  admiration  of  them  all,  from  the  lordly  prize  tusker 
to  the  great  mother  lying  broadside  on  in  grunting  and 
supreme  content,  every  grunt  eloquent  of  happiness  and 
maternal  love  and  pride,  to  allow  her  week-old  brood  to 
prod  and  punch  her  luxuriant  dugs  for  their  breakfast. 

By  the  time  they  had  made  their  rounds  Sir  Archi- 
bald had  arrived  at  his  most  comfortable  and  complac- 
ent mood.  He  loved  his  niece.  He  loved  her  for  the 
sake  of  his  dead  brother,  and  as  she  grew  in  years,  he 
came  to  love  her  for  herself.  Her  sturdy  independent 
fearlessness,  her  sound  sense,  her  honest  heart,  and 
chiefly,  if  it  must  be  told,  her  whole-souled  devotion  to 
himself,  made  for  her  a  great  space  in  his  heart.  And 
besides  all  this,  they  were  both  interested  to  the  point  of 
devotion  in  pigs.  As  he  watched  his  niece  handling  the 


66  CORPORAL   CAMERON 

little  sucklings  with  tender  care,  and  listened  to  her 
appraising  their  varying  merits  with  a  discriminating 
judgment,  his  heart  filled  up  with  pride  in  her  many 
accomplishments  and  capabilities. 

"Isn't  she  happy,  Uncle?"  she  exclaimed,  lifting  her 
brown,  sunny  face  to  him. 

"Ay,  lassie,"  replied  Sir  Archibald,  lapsing  into  the 
kindly  "braid  Scots,"  "I  ken  fine  how  she  feels." 

"She's  just  perfectly  happy,"  said  his  niece,  "and 
awfully  useful  and  good.  She  is  just  like  you,  Uncle." 

"What?  Oh,  thank  you,  I'm  extremely  flattered,  I 
assure  you." 

"Uncle,  you  know  what  I  mean!  Useful  and  good. 
Here  you  are  in  this  lovely  home — how  lovely  it  is  on  a 
warm,  shiny  day  like  this ! — safe  from  cares  and  worries, 
where  people  can't  get  at  you,  and  making — " 

"Ah,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  replied  her  uncle, 
shaking  his  head  with  a  frown.  "Some  people  have 
neither  sense  nor  manners.  Only  yesterday  I  was  pes- 
tered by  a  fellow  who  annoyed  me,  seriously  annoyed 
me,  interfering  in  affairs  which  he  knew  nothing  of, — 
actually  the  affairs  of  the  Bank! — prating  about  his 
family  name,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  Family  name!" 
Here,  it  must  be  confessed,  Sir  Archibald  distinctly 
snorted,  quite  in  a  manner  calculated  to  excite  the  envy 
of  any  of  his  Wiltshires. 

"I  know,  Uncle.  He  is  a  fool,  a  conceited  fool,  and  a 
selfish  fool." 

"You  know  him?"  inquired  her  uncle  in  a  tone  of  sur- 
prise. 

"No,  I  have  no  personal  acquaintance  with  him,  I'm 
glad  to  say,  but  I  know  about  him,  and  I  know  that  he 
came  with  Mr.  Rae,  the  Writer." 

"Ah,  yes !    Thoroughly  respectable  man,  Mr.  Rae." 


ALADY    ANDTHELAW  67 

"Yes,  Mr.  Kae  is  all  right;  but  Captain  Cameron — 
oh,  I  can't  bear  him !  He  came  to  talk  to  you  about  his 
son,  and  I  venture  to  say  he  took  most  of  the  time  in 
talking  about  himself." 

"Exactly  so !    But  how—?" 

"And,  Uncle,  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  that  matter, 
about  young  Cameron."  For  just  a  moment  Miss  Bro- 
die's  courage  faltered  as  she  observed  her  uncle's 
figure  stiffen.  "I  want  you  to  know  the  rights  of  the 
case." 

"Now,  now,  my  dear,  don't  you  go — ah — " 

"I  know,  Uncle,  you  were  going  to  say  'interfering,' 
only  you  remember  in  time  that  your  niece  never  inter- 
feres. Isn't  that  true,  Sir?" 

"Yes,  yes !    I  suppose  so ;  that  is,  certainly." 

"Now  I  am  interested  in  this  young  Cameron,  and  I 
want  you  to  get  the  right  view  of  his  case,  which  neither 
your  lawyer  nor  your  manager  nor  that  fool  father  of  his 
can  give  you.  I  know  that  if  you  see  this  case  as  I  see 
it  you  will  do — ah — exactly  what  is  right;  you  always 
do." 

Miss  Brodie's  voice  had  assumed  its  most  reasonable 
and  business-like  tone.  Sir  Archibald  was  impressed, 
and  annoyed  because  he  was  impressed. 

"Look  here,  Bessie,"  he  said,  in  as  impatient  a  tone  as 
he  ever  adopted  with  his  niece,  "you  know  how  I  hate 
being  pestered  with  business  affairs  out  here." 

"I  know  quite  well,  Uncle,  and  I  regret  it  awfully,  but 
I  know,  too,  that  you  are  a  man  of  honour,  and  that  you 
stand  for  fair  play.  But  that  young  man  is  to  be  arrested 
to-day,  and  you  know  what  that  will  mean  for  a  young 
fellow  with  his  way  to  make." 

Her  appeal  was  not  without  its  effect.  Sir  Archibald 
set  himself  to  give  her  serious  attention.  "Let  us  have 


68  CORPORAL    CAM  EBON 

it,  then,"  he  said  briefly.  "What  do  you  know  of  the 
young  man?" 

"This  first  of  all :  that  he  has  a  selfish,  conceited  prig 
for  a  father." 

With  which  beginning  Sir  Archibald  most  heartily 
agreed.  "But  how  do  you  know?" 

"Now,  let  me  tell  you  about  him."  And  Miss  Brodie 
proceeded  to  describe  the  scene  between  father  and  son 
in  Mr.  Rae's  office,  with  vigorous  and  illuminating  com- 
ments. "And  just  think,  the  man  in  the  company  who 
was  first  to  condemn  the  young  chap  was  his  own  father. 
Would  you  do  that?  You'd  stand  for  him  against  the 
whole  world,  even  if  he  were  wrong." 

"Steady,  steady,  lass!" 

"You  would,"  repeated  Miss  Bessie,  with  indignant 
emphasis.  "Would  you  chuck  me  over  if  I  were  dis- 
graced and  all  the  world  hounding  me?  Would  you?" 

"No,  by  God !"  said  Sir  Archibald  in  a  sudden  tempest 
of  emotion,  and  Miss  Bessie  smiled  lovingly  upon  him. 

"Well,  that's  the  kind  of  a  father  he  has.  Now  about 
the  young  fellow  himself :  He's  just  a  first-class  fool,  like 
most  young  fellows.  You  know  how  they  are,  Uncle." 

Sir  Archibald  held  up  his  hand.  "Don't  make  any 
such  assumptions." 

"Oh,  I  know  you,  and  when  you  were  a  boy  you  were 
just  as  gay  and  foolish  as  the  rest  of  them." 

Her  arch,  accusing  smile  suddenly  cast  a  rich  glow  of 
warm  colour  over  the  long,  grey  road  of  Sir  Archibald's 
youth  of  self-denial  and  struggle.  The  mild  indulgences 
of  his  early  years,  under  the  transforming  influence  of 
that  same  arch  and  accusing  smile,  took  on  for  Sir  Archi- 
bald such  an  aspect  of  wild  and  hilarious  gaiety  as  to 
impart  a  tone  of  hesitation  to  his  voice  while  he  depre- 
cated his  niece's  charge. 


ALADY     AND    THE    LAW  69 

"What,  I?  Nonsense!  What  do  you  know  about  it? 
Well,  well,  we  have  all  had  our  day,  I  suppose !" 

"Aha!  I  know  you,  and  I  should  love  to  have  known 
you  when  you  were  young  Cameron's  age.  Though  I'm 
quite  sure  you  were  never  such  a  fool  as  he.  You  always 
knew  how  to  take  care  of  yourself." 

Her  uncle  shook  his  head  as  if  to  indicate  that  the  less 
said  about  those  gay  young  days  the  better. 

"Now  wrhat  do  you  think  this  young  fool  does?  Gets 
drinking,  and  gets  so  muddled  up  in  all  his  money  mat- 
ters— he's  a  Highlander,  you  know,  and  Dunn,  Mr. 
Dunn  says — " 

"Dunn !" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Dunn,  the  great  International  captain,  you 
know!  Mr.  Dunn  says  he  can  take  a  whole  bottle  of 
Scotch—" 

"WThat,  Dunn?" 

"No,  no ;  you  know  perfectly  well,  Uncle !  This  young 
Cameron  can  take  a  whole  bottle  of  Scotch  and  walk  a 
crack,  but  his  head  gets  awfully  muddled." 

"Shouldn't  be  surprised !" 

"And  Mr.  Dunn  had  a  terrible  time  keeping  him  fit 
for  the  International.  You  know  he  was  Dunn's  half- 
back. Yes,"  cried  his  niece  with  enthusiasm,  suddenly 
remembering  a  tradition  that  in  his  youth  Sir  Archibald 
had  been  a  famous  quarter,  his  one  indulgence,  "a  glori- 
ous half-back,  too!  You  must  remember  in  the  match 
with  England  last  fall  the  brilliant  work  of  the  half- 
back. Everybody  went  mad  about  him.  That  was  young 
Cameron !" 

"You  don't  tell  me!  The  left-half  in  the  English  In- 
ternational last  fall?" 

"Yes,  indeed!  Oh,  he's  wonderful!  But  he  has  to 
be  watched,  you  know,  and  the  young  fool  lost  us  the 


70  CORPORAL   CAMERON 

last — "  Miss  Bessie  abruptly  checked  herself.  "But 
never  mind!  Well,  after  the  season,  you  know,  he  got 
going  loose,  and  this  is  the  result.  Owed  money  every- 
where, and  with  the  true  Highland  incapacity  for  busi- 
ness, and  the  true  Highland  capacity  for  trusting 
people — " 

"Huh !"  grunted  Sir  Archibald  in  disapproval. 

" — When  his  head  is  in  a  muddled  condition  he  does 
something  or  other  to  a  cheque — or  doesn't  do  it,  nobody 
knows — and  there  he  is  in  this  awful  fix.  Personally,  I 
don't  believe  he  is  guilty  of  the  crime." 

"And  why,  pray?" 

"Why?  Well,  Mr.  Dunn,  his  captain,  who  has  known 
him  for  years,  says  it  is  quite  impossible;  and  then  the 
young  man  himself  doesn't  deny  it." 

"What?    Does  not  deny  it?" 

"Exactly!  Like  a  perfectly  straightforward  gentle- 
man,— and  I  think  it's  awfully  fine  of  him, — though  he 
has  a  perfectly  good  chance  to  put  the  thing  on  a — a  fel- 
low Potts,  quite  a  doubtful  character,  he  simply  says,  'I 
know  nothing  about  it.  That  looks  like  my  signature. 
I  can't  remember  doing  this,  don't  know  how  I  could 
have,  but  don't  know  a  thing  about  it/  There  you 
are,  Uncle!  And  Mr.  Dunn  says  he  is  quite  incapable 
of  it." 

"Mr.  Dunn,  eh?  It  seems  you  build  somewhat  broadly 
upon  Mr.  Dunn." 

The  brown  on  Miss  Bessie's  check  deepened  slightly. 
"Well,  Mr.  Dunn  is  a  splendid  judge  of  men." 

"Ah;  and  of  young  ladies,  also,  I  imagine,"  said  Sir 
Archibald,  pinching  her  cheek. 

It  may  have  been  the  pinch,  but  the  flush  on  her  cheek 
grew  distinctly  brighter.  "Don't  be  ridiculous,  Uncle! 
He's  just  a  boy,  a  perfectly  splendid  boy,  and  glorious 


71 


in  his  game,  but  a  mere  boy,  and — well,  you  know,  I've 
arrived  at  the  age  of  discretion." 

"Quite  true!"  mused  her  uncle.  "Thirty  last  birth- 
day, was  it?  How  time  does — !" 

"Oh,  you  perfectly  horrid  uncle !  Thirty  indeed !  Are 
you  not  ashamed  to  add  to  the  already  intolerable  bur- 
den of  my  years?  Thirty!  No,  Sir,  not  by  five  good 
years  at  least !  There  now,  you've  made  me  tell  my  age ! 
You  ought  to  blush  for  shame." 

Her  uncle  patted  her  firm,  round  cheek.  "Never  a 
blush,  my  dear !  You  bear  even  your  advanced  age  with 
quite  sufficient  ease  and  grace.  But  now  about  this 
young  Cameron,"  he  continued,  assuming  a  sternly 
judicial  tone. 

"All  I  ask  for  him  is  a  chance,"  said  his  niece  ear- 
nestly. 

"A  chance?  Why  he  will  get  every  chance  the  law 
allows  to  clear  himself." 

"There  you  are !"  exclaimed  Miss  Bessie,  in  a  despair- 
ing tone.  "That's  the  way  the  lawyers  and  your  man- 
ager talk.  They  coolly  and  without  a  qualm  get  him 
arrested,  this  young  boy  who  has  never  in  all  his  life 
shown  any  sign  of  criminal  tendency.  These  horrid  law- 
yers display  their  dreadful  astuteness  and  ability  in 
catching  a  lad  who  never  tries  to  run  away,  and  yeur 
manager  pleads  the  rules  of  the  Bank.  The  rules! 
Fancy  rules  against  a  young  boy's  whole  life !" 

Her  uncle  rather  winced  at  this. 

"And  like  a  lot  of  sheep  they  follow  each  other  in  a 
circle ;  there  is  absolutely  no  independence,  no  initiative. 
Why,  they  even  went  so  far  as  to  suggest  that  you  could 
do  nothing,  that  you  were  bound  by  rules  and  must 
follow  like  the  rest  of  them;  but  I  told  them  I  knew 
better." 


72  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

"Ah!"  said  Sir  Archibald  in  his  most  dignified  man- 
ner. "I  trust  I  have  a  mind  of  my  own,  but— 

"Exactly!  So  I  said  to  Mr.  Dunn.  'Rules  or  no 
rules/  I  said,  'iny  uncle  will  do  the  fair  thing.'  And  I 
t  know  you  will,"  cried  Miss  Brodie  triumphantly.  "And 
if  you  look  at  it,  there's  a  very  big  chance  that  the  boy 
never  did  the  thing,  and  certainly  if  he  did  it  at  all  it 
was  when  he  was  quite  incapable.  Oh,  I  know  quite 
well  what  the  lawyers  say.  They  go  by  the  law, — 
they've  got  to, — but  you — and — and — I  go  by  the — the 
real  facts  of  the  case."  Sir  Archibald  coughed  gently. 
"I  mean  to  say — well  you  know,  Uncle,  quite  well,  you 
can  tell  what  a  man  is  by — well,  by  his  game." 

"His  game !" 

"And  by  his  eye." 

"His  eye !    And  his  eye  is — ?" 

"Now,  Uncle,  be  sensible !  I  mean  to  say,  if  you  could 
only  see  him.  Oh,  I  shall  bring  him  to  see  you!"  she 
cried,  with  a  sudden  inspiration. 

Sir  Archibald  held  up  a  deprecating  hand.  "Do  not, 
I  beg." 

"Well,  Uncle,  you  can  trust  my  judgment,  you  know 
you  can.  You  would  trust  me  in — in — "  For  a  moment 
Miss  Brodie  was  at  a  loss;  then  her  eyes  fell  upon  the 
grunting,  comfortable  old  mother  pig  with  her  indus- 
trious litter.  "Well,  don't  I  know  good  Wiltshires  when 
I  see  them?" 

"Quite  true,"  replied  her  uncle  solemnly ;  "and  there- 
fore, men." 

"Uncle,  you're  very  nearly  rude." 

"I  apologise,"  replied  her  uncle  hastily.  "But  now, 
Bessie,  my  dear  girl,  seriously,  as  to  this  case,  you  must 
understand  that  I  cannot  interfere.  The  Bank — hem 
< — the  Bank  is  a  great  National — " 


ALADY     AND    THE    LAW  73 

Miss  Bessie  saw  that  the  Guards  were  being  called 
upon.  She  hastened  to  bring  up  her  reserves.  "I  know, 
Uncle,  I  know!  I  wouldn't  for  the  world  say  a  word 
against  the  Bank,  but  you  see  the  case  against  the  lad 
is  at  least  doubtful." 

"I  was  going  on  to  observe,"  resumed  her  uncle,  ju- 
dicially, "that  the  Bank — " 

"Don't  misunderstand  me,  Uncle,"  cried  his  niece, 
realising  that  she  had  reached  a  moment  of  crisis.  "You 
know  I  would  not  for  a  moment  presume  to  interfere 
with  the  Bank,  but" — here  she  deployed  her  whole  force, 
— "the  lad's  youth  and  folly;  his  previous  good  charac- 
ter, guaranteed  by  Dunn,  who  knows  men;  his  glorious 
game — no  man  who  wasn't  straight  could  play  such  a 
game! — the  large  chance  of  his  innocence,  the  small 
chance  of  his  guilt;  the  hide-bound  rigidity  of  lawyers 
and  bank  managers,  dominated  by  mere  rules  and  rou- 
tine, in  contrast  with  the  open-minded  independence 
of  her  uncle ;  the  boy's  utter  helplessness ;  his  own  father 
having  been  ready  to  believe  the  worst, — just  think  of 
it,  Uncle,  his  own  father  thinking  of  himself  and  of  his 
family  name — much  he  has  ever  done  for  his  family 
name! — and  not  of  his  own  boy,  and" —  here  Miss 
Brodie's  voice  took  a  lower  key — "and  his  mother  died 
some  five  or  six  years  ago,  when  he  was  thirteen  or  four- 
teen, and  I  know,  you  know,  that  is  hard  on  a  boy."  In 
spite  of  herself,  and  to  her  disgust,  a  tremor  came  into 
her  voice  and  a  rush  of  tears  to  her  eyes. 

Her  uncle  was  smitten  with  dismay.  Only  on  one 
terrible  occasion  since  she  had  emerged  from  her  teens 
had  he  seen  his  niece  in  tears.  The  memory  of  that  terri- 
ble day  swept  over  his  soul.  Something  desperate  was 
doing.  Hard  as  the  little  man  was  to  the  world  against 
which  he  had  fought  his  way  to  his  present  position  of 


74  CORPOEAL 


distinction,  to  his  niece  he  was  soft-hearted  as  a  mother. 
"There,  there!"  he  exclaimed  hastily.  "We'll  give  the 
boy  a  chance.  No  mother,  eh?  And  a  confounded  prig 
for  a  father !  No  wonder  the  boy  goes  all  wrong !"  Then 
with  a  sudden  vehemence  he  cried,  striking  one  hand 
into  the  other,  "No,  by — !  that  is,  we  will  certainly  give 
the  lad  the  benefit  of  the  doubt.  Cheer  up,  lassie! 
You've  no  need  to  look  ashamed,"  for  his  niece  was  wip- 
ing her  eyes  in  manifest  disgust ;  "indeed,"  he  said,  with 
a  heavy  attempt  at  playfulness,  "you  are  a  most  excel- 
lent diplomat." 

"Diplomat,  Uncle!"  cried  the  girl,  vehement  indigna- 
tion in  her  voice  and  face.  "Diplomat !"  she  cried  again. 
"You  don't  mean  that  I've  not  been  quite  sincere?" 

"No,  no,  no ;  not  in  the  least,  my  dear !  But  that  you 
have  put  your  case  with  admirable  force." 

"Oh,"  said  the  girl  with  a  breath  of  relief,  "I  just  put 
it  as  I  feel  it.  And  it  is  not  a  bit  my  putting  it,  Uncle, 
but  it  is  just  that  you  are  a  dear  and — well,  a  real  sport ; 
you  love  fair  play."  The  girl  suddenly  threw  her  strong, 
young  arms  about  her  uncle's  neck,  drew  him  close  to 
her,  and  kissed  him  almost  as  if  she  had  been  his  mother. 

The  little  man  was  deeply  touched,  but  with  true 
Scotch  horror  of  a  demonstration  he  cried,  "Tut,  tut, 
lassie,  ye're  makin'  an  auld  fule  o>  your  uncle.  Come 
now,  be  sensible !" 

"Sensible!"  echoed  his  niece,  kissing  him  again. 
"That's  my  living  description  among  all  my  acquaint- 
ance. It  is  their  gentle  way  of  reminding  me  that  the 
ordinary  feminine  graces  of  sweetness  and  general  love- 
liness are  denied  me." 

"And  more  fools  they!"  grunted  her  uncle.  "You're 
worth  the  hale  caboodle  o'  them." 

That  same  evening  there  were  others  who  shared  this 


ALADY    ANDTHELAW  75 

opinion,  and  none  more  enthusiastically  than  did  Mr. 
Dunn,  whom  Miss  Brodie  chanced  to  meet  just  as  she 
turned  out  of  the  Waverly  Station. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Dunn,"  she  cried,  "how  very  fortunate!" 
Her  face  glowed  with  excitement. 

"For  me ;  yes,  indeed !"  said  Mr.  Dunn,  warmly  greet- 
ing her. 

"For  me,  for  young  Cameron,  for  us  all,"  said  Miss 
Brodie.  "Oh,  Kob,  is  that  you?"  she  continued,  as  her 
eye  fell  upon  the  youngster  standing  with  cap  off  wait- 
ing her  recognition.  "Look  at  this !"  she  flashed  a  letter 
before  Dunn's  face.  "What  do  you  think  of  that?" 

Dunn  took  the  letter.  "It's  to  Sheratt,"  he  said,  with 
a  puzzled  air. 

"Yes,"  cried  Miss  Brodie,  mimicking  his  tone,  "it's  to 
Sheratt,  from  Sir  Archibald,  and  it  means  that  Cameron 
is  safe.  The  police  will  never — " 

"The  police,"  cried  Dunn,  hastily,  getting  between 
young  Rob  and  her  and  glancing  at  his  brother,  who 
stood  looking  from  one  to  the  other  with  a  startled 
face. 

"How  stupid !  The  police  are  a  truly  wonderful  body 
of  men,"  she  went  on  with  enthusiasm.  "They  look  so 
splendid.  I  saw  some  of  them  as  I  came  along.  But 
never  mind  them  now.  About  this  letter.  What's  to 
do?" 

Dunn  glanced  at  his  watch.  "We  need  every  minute." 
He  stood  a  moment  or  two  thinking  deeply  while  Miss 
Brodie  chatted  eagerly  with  Rob,  whose  face  retained  its 
startled  and  anxious  look.  "First  to  Mr.  Rae's  office. 
Come!"  cried  Mr.  Dunn. 

"But  this  letter  ought  to  go." 

"Yes,  but  first  Mr.  Rae's  office."  Mr.  Dunn  had  as- 
sumed command.  His  words  shot  out  like  bullets. 


76  COBPOBAL    CAM EBON 

Miss  Brodie  glanced  at  him  with  a  new  admiration  in 
her  face.  As  a  rule  she  objected  to  being  ordered  about, 
but  somehow  it  seemed  good  to  accept  commands  from 
this  young  man,  whose  usually  genial  face  was  now  set 
in  such  resolute  lines. 

"Here,  Bob,  you  cut  home  and  tell  them  not  to  wait 
dinner  for  me." 

"All  right,  Jack  V9  But  instead  of  tearing  off  as  was 
his  wont  whenever  his  brother  gave  command,  Bob 
lingered.  "Can't  I  wait  a  bit,  Jack,  to  see — to  see  if 
anything — ?"  Bob  was  striving  hard  to  keep  his  voice 
in  command  and  his  face  steady.  "It's  Cameron,  Jack. 
I  know !"  He  turned  his  back  on  Miss  Brodie,  unwill- 
ing that  she  should  see  his  lips  quiver. 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  said  his  brother 
sharply. 

"Oh,  it  is  all  my  stupid  fault,  Mr.  Dunn,"  said  Miss 
Brodie.  "Let  him  come  along  a  bit  with  us.  I  say, 
youngster,  you  are  much  too  acute,"  she  continued,  as 
they  went  striding  along  together  toward  Mr.  Bae's 
office.  "But  will  you  believe  me  if  I  tell  you  something? 
Will  you?  Straight  now?" 

The  boy  glanced  up  into  her  honest  blue  eyes,  and 
nodded  his  head. 

"Your  friend  Cameron  is  quite  all  right.  He  was  in 
some  difficulty,  but  now  he's  quite  all  right.  Do  you 
believe  me?" 

The  boy  looked  again  steadily  into  her  eyes.  The 
anxious  fear  passed  out  of  his  face,  and  once  more  he 
nodded ;  he  knew  he  could  not  keep  his  voice  quite  steady. 
But  after  a  few  paces  he  said  to  his  brother,  "I  think  I'll 
go  now,  Jack."  His  mind  was  at  rest ;  his  idol  was  safe. 

"Oh,  come  along  and  protect  me,"  cried  Miss  Brodie. 
"These  lawyer  people  terrify  me." 


ALADY     AND    THE    LAW  77 

The  boy  smiled  a  happy  smile.  "I'll  go,"  he  said 
resolutely. 

"Thanks,  awfully,"  said  Miss  Brodie.  "I  shall  feel 
so  much  safer  with  you  in  the  waiting  room." 

It  wras  a  difficult  matter  to  surprise  Mr.  Kae,  and  even 
more  difficult  to  extract  from  him  any  sign  of  surprise, 
but  when  Dunn,  leaving  Miss  Brodie  and  his  brother  in 
the  anteroom,  entered  Mr.  Kae's  private  office  and  laid 
the  letter  for  Mr.  Sheratt  before  him,  remarking,  "This 
letter  is  from  Sir  Archibald,  and  withdraws  the  prose- 
cution," Mr.  Kae  stood  speechless,  gazing  now  at  the 
letter  in  his  hand,  and  now  at  Mr.  Dunn's  face. 

"God  bless  my  soul !  This  is  unheard  of.  How  came 
you  by  this,  Sir?" 

"Miss  Brodie — "  began  Dunn. 

"Miss  Brodie?" 

"She  is  in  the  waiting  room,  Sir." 

"Then,  for  heaven's  sake,  bring  her  in !  Davie,  Davie ! 
Where  is  that  man  now?  Here,  Davie,  a  message  to 
Mr.  Thomlinson." 

Davie  entered  with  deliberate  composure. 

"My  compliments  to  Mr.  Thomlinson,  and  ask  if  he 
would  step  over  at  once.  It  is  a  matter  of  extreme 
urgency.  Be  quick !" 

But  Davie  had  his  own  mind  as  to  the  fitness  of  things. 
"Wad  a  note  no'  be  better,  Sir?  Wull  not—?" 

"Go,  will  you !"  almost  shouted  Mr.  Rae. 

Davie  was  so  startled  at  Mr.  Kae's  unusual  vehemence 
that  he  seized  his  cap  and  made  for  the  door.  "He'll 
no'  come  for  the  like  o'  me,"  he  said,  pausing  with  the 
door-knob  in  his  hand.  "It's  no'  respectable  like  tae — " 

"Man,  will  ye  no'  be  gone?"  cried  Mr.  Rae,  rising 
from  his  chair. 

"I  will  that !"  exclaimed  Davie,  banging  the  door  after 


78  CORPOKAL    CAM  EBON 

him.  "But,"  he  cried  furiously,  thrusting  his  head  once 
more  into  the  room,  "if  he'll  no'  come  it's  no'  faut  o' 
mine."  His  voice  rose  higher  and  higher,  and  ended  in 
a  wrathful  scream  as  Mr.  Kae,  driven  to  desperation, 
hurled  a  law  book  of  some  weight  at  his  vanishing  head. 

"The  de'il  take  ye !    Ye'll  be  my  deith  yet." 

The  book  went  crashing  against  the  door-frame  just 
as  Miss  Brodie  was  about  to  enter.  "I  say,"  she  cried, 
darting  back.  "Heaven  protect  me !  Rob,  save  me !" 

Rob  sprang  to  her  side.  She  stood  for  a  moment 
gazing  aghast  at  Mr.  Dunn,  who  gazed  back  at  her  in 
equal  surprise.  "Is  this  his  'usual'?"  she  inquired. 

At  that  the  door  opened.  "Ah,  Mr.  Dunn,  this  is  Miss 
Brodie,  I  suppose.  Come  in,  come  in!"  Mr.  Rae's 
manner  was  most  bland. 

Miss  Brodie  gave  him  her  hand  with  some  hesitation. 
"I'm  very  glad  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Rae,  but  is  this  quite 
the  usual  method?  I  mean  to  say,  I've  heard  of  having 
advice  hurled  at  one's  head,  but  I  can't  say  that  I  ever 
was  present  at  a  demonstration  of  the  method." 

"Oh,"  said  Mr.  Rae,  with  bland  and  gallant  courtesy, 
"the  method,  my  dear  young  lady,  varies  with  the  sub- 
ject in  hand." 

"Ah,  the  subject !" 

"And  with  the  object  in  view." 

"Oh,  I  see." 

"But  pray  be  seated.  And  now  explain  this  most 
wonderful  phenomenon."  He  tapped  the  letter. 

"Oh,  that  is  quite  simple,"  said  Miss  Brodie.  "I  set 
the  case  of  young  Mr.  Cameron  before  my  uncle,  and  of 
course  he  at  once  saw  that  the  only  thing  to  do  was  with- 
draw the  prosecution." 

Mr.  Rae  stood  gazing  steadily  at  her  as  if  striving  to 
take  in  the  meaning  of  her  words,  the  while  screwing  up 


ALADY     ANDTHELAW  79 

his  ear  most  violently  till  it  stuck  out  like  a  horn  upon 
the  side  of  his  shiny,  bald  head.  "Permit  me  to  say, 
Miss  Brodie,"  he  said,  with  a  deliberate  and  measured 
emphasis,  "that  you  must  be  a  most  extraordinary  young 
lady."  At  this  point  Mr.  Kae's  smile  broke  forth  in  all 
its  glory. 

"Oh,  thank  you,  Mr.  Rae,"  replied  Miss  Brodie,  smil- 
ing responsively  at  him.  "You  are  most — "  But  Mr. 
Kae's  smile  had  vanished.  "What!  I  beg  your  par- 
don !"  Miss  Brodie's  smiling  response  was  abruptly 
arrested  by  finding  herself  gazing  at  a  face  whose  grave 
solemnity  rebuked  her  smile  as  unwarranted  levity. 

"Not  at  all,  not  at  all!"  said  Mr.  Rae.  "But  now, 
there  are  matters  demanding  immediate  action.  First, 
Mr.  Sheratt  must  receive  and  act  upon  this  letter  with- 
out delay."  As  he  spoke  he  was  scribbling  hastily  a 
note.  "Mr.  Dunn,  my  young  men  have  gone  for  the  day. 
Might  I  trouble  you?" 

"Most  certainly,"  cried  Mr.  Dunn.  "Is  an  answer 
wanted?" 

"Bring  him  with  you,  if  possible;  indeed,  bring  him 
whether  it  is  possible  or  not.  But  wait,  it  is  past  the 
hour  appointed.  Already  the  officer  has  gone  for  young 
Cameron.  We  must  save  him  the  humiliation  of  arrest." 

"Oh,  could  I  not  warn  him?"  cried  Miss  Brodie 
eagerly.  "No,"  she  added,  "Kob  will  go.  He  is  in  the 
waiting  room  now,  poor  little  chap.  It  will  be  a  joy  to 
him." 

"It  is  just  as  well  Rob  should  know  nothing.  He  is 
awfully  fond  of  Cameron.  It  would  break  his  heart," 
said  Mr.  Dunn. 

"Oh,  of  course!  Quite  unnecessary  that  he  should 
know  anything.  We  simply  wish  Cameron  here  at  the 
earliest  possible  moment." 


80  CORPORAL   CAMERON 

Dunn  went  with  his  young  brother  down  the  stairs 
and  out  to  the  street.  "Now,  Rob,  you  are  to  go  to 
Cameron's  lodgings  and  tell  him  that  Mr.  Rae  wants 
him,  and  that  I  want  him.  Hold  on,  youngster!"  he 
cried,  grabbing  Rob  by  the  collar,  "do  you  understand? 
It  is  very  important  that  Cameron  should  get  here  as 
quick  as  he  possibly  can,  and — I  say,  Rob,"  the  big 
brother's  eyes  traveled  over  the  darkening  streets  that 
led  up  into  the  old  town,  "you're  not  afraid?" 

"A  wee  bit,"  said  Rob,  tugging  at  the  grasp  on  his 
collar;  "but  I  don't  care  if  I  am." 

"Good  boy!"  cried  his  brother.  "Good  little  brick! 
I  wouldn't  let  you  go,  but  it's  simply  got  to  be  done,  old 
chap.  Now  fly!"  He  held  him  just  a  moment  longer 
to  slap  him  on  the  back,  then  released  his  hold.  Dunn 
stood  watching  the  little  figure  tearing  up  the  North 
Bridge.  "Great  little  soul!"  he  muttered.  "Now  for 
old  Sheratt!" 

He  put  his  head  down  and  began  to  bore  through  the 
crowd  toward  Mr.  Sheratt's  house.  When  he  had  gone 
but  a  little  distance  he  was  brought  up  short  by  a  bang 
full  in  the  stomach.  "Why,  what  the  deuce!" 

"Dodgastye!  Whaur  are  ye're  een?"  It  was  Davie, 
breathless  and  furious  from  the  impact.  "Wad  ye  walk 
ower  me,  dang  ye?"  cried  the  little  man  again.  Davie 
was  Free  Kirk,  and  therefore  limited  in  the  range  of  his 
vocabulary. 

"Oh!  That  you,  Davie?  I'm  sorry  I  didn't  see 
you." 

"A'm  no'  as  big  as  a  hoose,  but  a'm  veesible."  And 
Davie  walked  wrathfully  about  his  business. 

"Oh,  quite,"  acknowledged  Dunn  cheerfully,  hurrying 
on ;  "and  tangible,  as  well." 

"He's  comm',"  cried  Davie  over  his  shoulder;  "but 


81 


gar  it  had  been  masel',"  he  added  grudgingly,  "catch 
me!" 

But  Dunn  was  too  far  on  his  way  to  make  reply. 
Already  his  mind  was  on  the  meeting  of  the  lawyers  in 
Mr.  Kae's  office,  and  wondering  what  would  come  of  it. 
On  this  subject  he  meditated  until  he  reached  Mr. 
Sheratt's  home.  Twice  he  rang  the  bell,  still  meditating. 

"By  Jove,  she  is  stunning!  She's  a  wonder!"  he  ex- 
claimed to  himself  as  he  stood  in  Mr.  Sheratt's  drawing- 
room.  "She's  got  'em  all  skinned  a  mile,  as  Martin 
would  say."  It  is  safe  to  affirm  that  Mr.  Dunn  was  not 
referring  to  the  middle-aged  and  highly  respectable  maid 
who  had  opened  the  door  to  him.  It  is  equally  safe  to 
affirm  that  this  was  the  unanimous  verdict  of  the  three 
men  who,  half  an  hour  later,  brought  their  deliberations 
to  a  conclusion,  frankly  acknowledging  to  each  other 
that  what  they  had  one  and  all  failed  to  achieve,  the  lady 
had  accomplished. 


82  CORPORAL    CAMERON 


I 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  WASTER'S  REFUGE 

"f  SAY,  you  blessed  Colonial,  what's  come  over  you?" 
Linklater  was  obviously  disturbed.  He  had  just 
returned  from  a  summer's  yachting  through  the 
Norway  fjords,  brown  and  bursting  with  life.  The  last 
half-hour  he  had  been  pouring  forth  his  experiences 
to  his  friend.  Martin.  These  experiences  were  some  of 
them  exciting,  some  of  them  of  doubtful  ethical  quality, 
but  all  of  them  to  Linklater  at  least  interesting.  During 
the  recital  it  was  gradually  borne  in  upon  him  that  his 
friend  Martin  was  changed.  Linklater,  as  the  conscious- 
ness of  the  change  in  his  friend  grew  upon  him,  was 
prepared  to  resent  it.  "What  the  deuce  is  the  matter 
with  you?"  he  enquired.  "Are  you  ill?" 

"Never  better.  I  could  at  this  present  moment  sit 
upon  your  fat  and  florid  carcass." 

"Well,  what  then  is  wrong?  I  say,  you  haven't — it 
isn't  a  girl,  is  it?" 

"Nothing  so  lucky  for  a  bloomin'  Colonial  in  this 
land  of  wealth  and  culture.  If  I  only  dared !" 

"There's  something,"  insisted  Linklater;  "but  I've  no 
doubt  it  will  develop.  Meantime  let  us  go  out,  and,  in 
your  own  picturesque  vocabulary,  let  us  'hit  the  flowing 
bowl.' ' 

"No,  Sir!"  cried  Martin  emphatically.  "No  more! 
I  am  on  the  water  wagon,  and  have  been  all  sum- 
mer." 

"I  knew  it  was  something,"  replied  Linklater  gloomily, 
"but  I  didn't  think  it  was  quite  so  bad  as  that.  No 
wonder  you've  had  a  hard  summer !" 


THE    WASTER'S    REFUGE  83 

"Best  summer  ever!"  cried  Martin.  "I  only  wish 
I  had  started  two  years  ago  when  I  came  to  this  bibulous 
burgh." 

"How  came  it?    Religion?" 
"No ;  just  horse  sense,  and  the  old  chief." 
"Dunn!"  exclaimed  Linklater.     "I  always  knew  he 
was  against  that  sort  of  thing  in  training,  but  I  didn't 
think  he  would  carry  it  to  this  length." 

"Yes,  Dunn !  I  say,  old  boy,  I've  no  doubt  you  think 
you  know  him,  I  thought  so,  too,  but  I've  learned  some 
this  summer.  Here's  a  yarn,  and  it  is  impressive.  Dunn 
had  planned  an  extensive  walking  tour  in  the  High- 
lands; you  know  he  came  out  of  his  exams,  awfully 
fagged.  Well,  at  this  particular  moment  it  happened 
that  Balfour  Murray — you  .know  the  chap  that  has  been 
running  that  settlement  joint  in  the  Canongate  for  the 
last  two  years — proposes  to  Dunn  that  he  should  spend 
a  few  weeks  in  leading  the  young  hopefuls  in  that  inter- 
esting and  uncleanly  neighbourhood  into  paths  of  virtue 
and  higher  citizenship  by  way  of  soccer  and  kindred 
athletic  stunts.  Dunn  in  his  innocence  agrees,  where- 
upon Balfour  Murray  promptly  develops  a  sharp  attack 
of  pneumonia,  necessitating  rest  and  change  of  air,  leav- 
ing the  poor  old  chief  in  the  deadly  breach.  Of  course, 
everybody  knows  what  the  chief  would  do  in  any  deadly 
breach  affair.  He  gave  up  his  Highland  tour,  shoul- 
dered the  whole  Canongate  business,  organised  the  thing 
as  never  before,  inveigled  all  his  friends  into  the  same 
deadly  breach,  among  the  number  your  humble  servant, 
who  at  the  time  was  fiercely  endeavouring  in  the  last 
lap  of  the  course  to  atone  for  a  two  years'  loaf,  organised 
a  champion  team  which  has  licked  the  spots  off  every- 
thing in  sight,  and  in  short,  has  made  the  whole  busi- 
ness a  howling  success;  at  the  cost,  however,  of  all 


84  CORPORAL    CAMERON 


worldly  delights,  including  his  Highland  tour  and  the 
International." 

"Oh,  I  say !"  moaned  Linklater.  "It  makes  me  quite 
ill  to  think  of  the  old  chief  going  off  this  way." 

Martin  nodded  sympathetically.  "Kind  of  'Days  that 
are  no  more/  'Lost  leader'  feeling,  eh?" 

"Exactly,  exactly!  Oh,  it's  rotten!  And  you,  too! 
He's  got  you  on  this  same  pious  line." 

"Look  here,"  shouted  Martin,  with  menace  in  his 
voice,  "are  you  classifying  me  with  the  old  chief?  Don't 
be  a  derned  fool." 

Linklater  brightened  perceptibly.  "Now  you're  get- 
ting a  little  natural,"  he  said  in  a  hopeful  tone. 

"Oh,  I  suppose  you'd  like  to  hear  me  string  out  a  lot 
of  damns." 

"Well,  it  might  help.  I  wouldn't  feel  quite  so  lonely. 
But  don't  violate — " 

"I'd  do  it  if  I  thought  it  would  really  increase  your 
comfort,  though  I  know  I'd  feel  like  an  infernal  ass. 
I've  got  new  light  upon  this  'damning'  business.  I've 
come  to  regard  it  as  the  refuge  of  the  mentally  inert, 
not  to  say  imbecile,  who  have  lost  the  capacity  for  origi- 
nality and  force  in  speech.  For  me,  I  am  cured." 

"Ah !"  said  Linklater.    "Dunn  again,  I  suppose." 

"Not  a  bit!  Clear  case  of  psychological  reaction. 
After  listening  to  the  Canongate  experts  I  was  imme- 
diately conscious  of  an  overwhelming  and  mortifying 
sense  of  inadequacy,  of  amateurishness;  hence  I  quit. 
Besides,  of  course,  the  chief  is  making  rather  a  point  of 
uplifting  the  Canongate  forms  of  speech." 

Linklater  gazed  steadily  at  this  friend,  then  said  with 
mournful  deliberation,  "You  don't  drink,  you  don't 
swear,  you  don't  smoke — " 

"Oh,  that's  your  grouch,  is  it?"  cried  Martin.    "For- 


THE    WASTER'S    REFUGE  85 

give  me;  here's  my  pouch,  old  chap ;  or  wait,  here's  some- 
thing altogether  finer  than  anything  you've  been  accus- 
tomed to.  I  was  at  old  Kingston's  last  night,  and  the 
old  boy  would  have  me  load  up  with  his  finest.  You 
know  I've  been  working  with  him  this  summer.  Aw- 
fully fine  for  me!  Dunn  got  me  on;  or  rather,  his 
governor.  There  you  are  now !  Smoke  that  with  rever- 
ence." 

"Ah,"  sighed  Linklater,  as  he  drew  in  his  first  whiff, 
"there  is  still  something  left  to  live  for.  Now  tell  me, 
what  about  Cameron?" 

"Oh,  Cameron!  Cameron's  all  up  a  tree.  The  last 
time  I  saw  him,  by  Jove,  I  was  glad  it  was  in  the  open 
daylight  and  on  a  frequented  street.  His  face  and  man- 
ner suggested  Roderick  Dhu,  The  Black  Douglas,  and 
all  the  rest  of  that  interesting  gang  of  cutthroats.  I 
can't  bring  myself  to  talk  of  Cameron.  He's  been  the 
old  chiefs  relaxation  during  dog-days.  It  makes  me  hot 
to  see  Dunn  with  that  chap." 

"Why,  what's  the  trouble?" 

"He  tried  him  out  in  half  a  dozen  positions,  in  every 
one  of  which  he  proved  a  dead  failure.  The  last  was  in 
Mr.  Rae's  office,  a  lawyer,  you  know,  Writer,  to  use  your 
lucid  and  luminous  speech.  That  experiment  proved 
the  climax."  At  the  memory  of  that  experience  Martin 
laughed  loud  and  long.  "It  was  funny!  Mr.  Rae,  the 
cool,  dignified,  methodical,  exact  man  of  the  law,  strug- 
gling to  lick  into  shape  this  haughty  Highland  chieftain, 
who  in  his  heart  scorned  the  whole  silly  business.  The 
result,  the  complete  disorganisation  of  Mr.  Rae's  busi- 
ness, and  total  demoralisation  of  Mr.  Rae's  office  staff, 
who  one  and  all  swore  allegiance  to  the  young  chief. 
Finally,  when  Mr.  Rae  had  reached  the  depths  of  des- 
peration, Cameron  graciously  deigned  to  inform  his  boss 


86  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

that  he  found  the  office  and  its  claims  quite  insupport- 
able." 

"Oh,  it  must  have  been  funny.    What  happened?" 

"What  happened?  You  bet  old  Kae  fell  on  his  neck 
with  tears  of  joy,  and  sent  him  off  with  a  handsome 
honorarium,  as  your  gentle  speech  has  it.  That  was  a 
fortnight  ago.  Then  Dunn,  in  despair,  took  Cameron 
off  to  his  native  haunts,  and  there  he  is  to  this  day.  By 
the  same  token,  this  is  the  very  afternoon  that  Dunn 
returns.  Let  us  go  to  meet  him  with  cornets  and 
cymbals!  The  unexpected  pleasure  of  your  return 
made  me  quite  forget.  But  won't  he  revel  in  you,  old 
boy!" 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Linklater  gloomily. 
"I've  a  kind  of  feeling  that  I've  dropped  out  of  this  com- 
bination." 

"What?"    Then  Martin  fell  upon  him. 

But  if  Martin's  attempts  to  relieve  his  friend  of  melan- 
choly forebodings  were  not  wholly  successful,  Dunn's 
shout  of  joy  and  his  double-handed  shake  as  he  grappled 
Linklater  to  him,  drove  from  that  young  man's  heart 
the  last  lingering  shade  of  doubt  as  to  his  standing  with 
his  friends. 

On  his  way  home  Dunn  dropped  into  Martin's  dig- 
gings for  a  "crack,"  and  for  an  hour  the  three  friends 
reviewed  the  summer's  happenings,  each  finding  in  the 
experience  of  the  others  as  keen  a  joy  as  in  his  own. 

Linklater's  holiday  had  been  the  most  fruitful  in 
exciting  incident.  For  two  months  he  and  his  crew  had 
dodged  about  among  quaint  Norwegian  harbours  and  in 
and  out  of  fjords  of  wonderful  beauty.  Storms  they 
had  weathered  and  calms  they  had  endured;  lazy  days 
they  had  spent,  swimming,  fishing,  loafing;  and  wild 
days  in  fighting  gales  and  high-running  seas  that  threat- 


THE    WASTER'S    REFUGE  87 


ened  to  bury  them  and  their  crew  beneath  their  white- 
topped  mountainous  peaks. 

"I  say,  that  must  have  been  great,"  cried  Dunn  with 
enthusiastic  delight  in  his  friend's  experiences. 

"It  sounds  good,  even  in  the  telling,"  cried  Martin, 
who  had  been  listening  with  envious  ears.  "Now  my 
experiences  are  quite  other.  One  word  describes  them, 
grind,  grind,  grind,  day  in  and  day  out,  in  a  gallant  but 
futile  attempt  to  justify  the  wisdom  of  my  late  examiners 
in  granting  me  my  Triple." 

"Don't  listen  to  him,  Linklater,"  said  Dunn.  "I  hap- 
pen to  know  that  he  came  through  with  banners  flying 
and  drums  beating;  and  he  has  turned  into  no  end  of  a 
surgeon.  I've  heard  old  Kingston  on  him." 

"But  what  about  you,  Dunn?"  asked  Linklater,  with 
a  kind  of  curious  uncertainty  in  his  voice,  as  if  dreading 
a  tale  of  calamity. 

"Oh,  I've  loafed  about  town  a  little,  golfing  a  bit  and 
slumming  a  bit  for  a  chap  that  got  ill,  and  in  spare  mo- 
ments looking  after  Martin  here." 

"And  the  International?" 

Dunn  hesitated. 

"Come  on,  old  chap,"  said  Martin,  "take  your  medi- 
cine." 

"Well,"  admitted  Dunn,  "I  had  to  chuck  it.  But,"  he 
hastened  to  add,  "Nesbitt  has  got  the  thing  in  fine  shape, 
though  of  course  lacking  the  two  brilliant  quarters  of 
last  year  and  the  half — for  Cameron's  out  of  it — it's 
rather  rough  on  Nesbitt." 

"Oh,  I  say!  It's  rotten,  it's  really  ghastly!  How 
could  you  do  it,  Dunn?"  said  Linklater.  "I  could  weep 
tears  of  blood." 

To  this  Dunn  made  no  reply.  His  disappointment  was 
even  yet  too  keen  for  him  to  treat  it  lightly.  "Anything 


88  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

else  seemed  quite  impossible,"  at  length  he  said ;  "I  had 
to  chuck  it." 

"By  the  way,"  said  Martin,  "how's  Cameron?" 

Again  Dunn  paused.  "I  wish  I  could  tell  you.  He's 
had  hard  luck  this  summer.  He  somehow  can't  get  hold 
of  himself.  In  fact,  I'm  quite  worried  about  Cameron. 
I  can't  tell  you  chaps  the  whole  story,  but  last  spring  he 
had  a  really  bad  jolt." 

"Well,  what's  he  going  to  do?"  Martin  asked,  some- 
what impatiently. 

"I  wish  I  knew,"  replied  Dunn  gloomily.  "There 
seems  nothing  he  can  get  here  that's  suitable.  I'm 
afraid  he  will  have  to  try  the  Colonies;  Canada  for 
preference." 

"Oh,  I  say,  Dunn,"  exclaimed  Martin,  "it  can't  really 
be  as  bad  as  all  that?" 

Dunn  laughed.  "I  apologise,  old  chap.  That  was 
rather  a  bad  break,  wasn't  it?  But  all  the  same,  to  a 
Scotchman,  and  especially  to  a  Highlander,  to  leave 
home  and  friends  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know— 

"No,  he  doesn't  know,"  cried  Linklater.  "The  bar- 
barian !  How  could  he?" 

"No,  thank  God,"  replied  Martin  fervently,  "I  don't 
know !  To  my  mind  any  man  that  has  a  chance  to  go  to 
Canada  on  a  good  job  ought  to  call  in  his  friends  and 
neighbours  to  rejoice  with  him." 

"But  I  say,  that  reminds  me,"  said  Dunn.  "Mr.  Rae 
is  coming  to  have  a  talk  with  my  governor  and  me  about 
this  very  thing  to-morrow  night.  I'd  like  awfully  if  you 
could  drop  in,  Martin ;  and  you,  too,  Linklater." 

Linklater  declined.  "My  folks  have  something  on, 
I  fear." 

Martin  hesitated,  protesting  that  there  was  "alto- 
gether too  much  of  this  coddling  business"  in  the  matter 


THE    WASTER'S    REFUGE  89 

of  Cameron's  future.  "Besides,  my  work  is  rather 
crowding  me." 

"Oh,  my  pious  ancestors!  Work!"  exclaimed  Link- 
later  in  disgust.  "At  this  season  of  the  year!  Come, 
Martin,  this  pose  is  unworthy  of  you." 

"If  you  could,  old  man,"  said  Dunn  earnestly,  "we 
won't  keep  you  long.  It  would  be  a  great  help  to  us  all." 

"All  right,  I'll  come,"  said  Martin. 

"There'll  be  no  one  there  but  Mr.  Rae.  We'll  just 
have  a  smoke  and  a  chat." 

But  in  this  expectation  Dunn  was  reckoning  without 
his  young  brother,  Rob,  who,  ever  since  a  certain  mo- 
mentous evening,  had  entered  into  a  covenant  of  com- 
radeship with  the  young  lady  who  had  figured  so 
prominently  in  the  deliverance  of  his  beloved  Cameron 
from  pending  evil,  and  who  during  the  summer  had 
allowed  no  week  to  pass  without  spending  at  least  a 
part  of  a  day  with  her.  On  this  particular  evening, 
having  obtained  leave  from  his  mother,  the  young  gentle- 
man had  succeeded  in  persuading  his  friend  to  accept 
an  invitation  to  dinner,  assuring  her  that  no  one  would 
be  there  except  Jack,  who  was  to  arrive  home  the  day 
before. 

The  conclave  of  Cameron's  friends  found  themselves, 
therefore,  unexpectedly  reinforced  by  the  presence  of 
Miss  Brodie,  to  the  unmingled  joy  of  all  of  them, 
although  in  Martin's  case  his  joy  was  tinged  with  a  cer- 
tain fear,  for  he  stood  in  awe  of  the  young  lady,  both 
because  of  her  reputation  for  cleverness,  and  because  of 
the  grand  air  which,  when  it  pleased  her,  she  could 
assume.  Martin,  too,  stood  in  wholesome  awe  of  Doctor 
Dunn,  whose  quiet  dignity  and  old-time  courtesy  exer- 
cised a  chastening  influence  upon  the  young  man's 
somewhat  picturesque  style  of  language  and  exuberance 


90 


of  metaphor.  But  with  Mrs.  Dunn  he  felt  quite  at  ease, 
for  with  that  gentle,  kindly  soul,  her  boys'  friends  were 
her  friends  and  without  question  she  took  them  to  her 
motherly  heart. 

Immediately  upon  Mr.  Bae's  arrival  Cameron's  future 
became  the  subject  of  conversation,  and  it  required  only 
the  briefest  discussion  to  arrive  at  the  melancholy,  in- 
evitable conclusion  that,  as  Mr.  Kae  put  it,  "for  a  young 
man  of  his  peculiar  temperament,  training,  and  habits, 
Scotland  was  clearly  impossible." 

"But  I  have  no  doubt,"  continued  that  excellent  ad- 
viser, "that  in  Canada,  where  the  demand  for  a  high 
standard  of  efficiency  is  less  exacting,  and  where  open- 
ings are  more  plentiful,  the  young  man  will  do  very  well 
indeed." 

Martin  took  the  lawyer  up  somewhat  sharply.  "In 
other  words,  I  understand  you  to  mean  that  the  man 
who  is  a  failure  in  Scotland  may  become  a  success  in 
Canada." 

"Exactly  so.    Would  you  not  say  so,  Mr.  Martin?" 

"It  depends  entirely  upon  the  cause  of  failure.  If 
failure  arises  from  unfitness,  his  chances  in  Canada  are 
infinitely  less  than  in  Scotland." 

"And  why?"  inquired  Miss  Brodie  somewhat  im- 
patiently. 

Martin  hesitated.  It  was  extremely  difficult  in  the 
atmosphere  of  that  home  to  criticise  one  whom  he  knew 
to  be  considered  as  a  friend  of  the  family. 

"Why,  pray?"  repeated  Miss  Brodie. 

"Well,  of  course,"  began  Martin  hesitatingly,  "com- 
parisons are  always  odious." 

"Oh,  we  can  bear  them."  Miss  Brodie's  smile  was 
slightly  sarcastic. 

"Well,  then,  speaking  generally,"  said  Martin,  some- 


91 


what  nettled  by  her  smile,  "in  this  country  there  are 
heaps  of  chaps  that  simply  can't  fall  down  because  of  the 
supports  that  surround  them,  supports  of  custom,  tra- 
dition, not  to  speak  of  their  countless  friends,  sisters, 
cousins,  and  aunts;  if  they're  anyways  half  decent 
they're  kept  a  going;  whereas  if  they  are  in  a  new  coun- 
try and  with  few  friends,  they  must  stand  alone  or  fall. 
Here  the  crowd  support  them;  there  the  crowd,  eager 
to  get  on,  shove  them  aside  or  trample  them  down." 

"Kather  a  ghastly  picture  that,"  said  Miss  Brodie. 

"But  true;  that  is,  of  the  unfit.  People  haven't  time 
to  bother  with  them ;  the  game  is  too  keen." 

"Surely  the  picture  is  overdrawn,"  said  Doctor 
Dunn. 

"It  may  be,  Sir,"  replied  Martin,  "but  I  have  seen 
so  many  young  fellows  who  had  been  shipped  out  to 
Canada  because  they  were  failures  at  home.  I  have  seen 
them  in  very  hard  luck." 

"And  what  about  the  fit?"  inquired  Miss  Brodie. 

"They  get  credit  for  every  ounce  that's  in  them." 

"But  that  is  so  in  Scotland  as  well." 

"Pardon  me,  Miss  Brodie,  hardly.  Here  even  strong 
men  and  fit  men  have  to  wait  half  a  lifetime  for  the 
chance  that  calls  for  all  that's  in  them.  They  must 
march  in  the  procession  and  the  pace  is  leisurely.  In 
Canada  the  chances  come  every  day,  and  the  man  that's 
ready  jumps  in  and  wins." 

"Ah,  I  see !"  exclaimed  Miss  Brodie.  "There  are  more 
ladders  by  which  to  climb." 

"Yes,"  cried  Martin,  "and  fewer  men  on  them." 

"But,"  argued  Dunn,  "there  are  other  causes  of 
failure  in  this  country.  Many  a  young  fellow,  for  in- 
stance, cannot  get  a  congenial  position." 

"Yes,"  replied  Martin  quickly,  "because  you  won't 


92  CORPORAL    CAMEKON 

let  him ;  your  caste  law  forbids.  With  us  a  man  can  do 
anything  decent  and  no  one  thinks  the  less  of  him." 

"Ah,  I  see!"  again  cried  Miss  Brodie,  more  eagerly 
than  before.  "Not  only  more  ladders,  but  more  kinds 
of  ladders." 

"Exactly,"  said  Martin  with  an  approving  glance. 
"And  he  must  not  be  too  long  in  the  choosing." 

"Then,  Mr.  Martin,"  said  Mr.  Rae,  "what  would  you 
suggest  for  our  young  friend?" 

But  this  Martin  refused  to  answer. 

"Surely  there  are  openings  for  a  young  fellow  in 
Canada,"  said  Dunn.  "Take  a  fellow  like  myself.  What 
could  I  do?" 

"You?"  cried  Martin,  his  eyes  shining  with  loving 
enthusiasm.  "There  are  doors  open  on  every  business 
street  in  every  town  and  city  in  Canada  for  you,  or  for 
any  fellow  who  has  brain  or  brawn  to  sell  and  who  will 
take  any  kind  of  a  job  and  stay  with  it." 

"Well,  what  job,  for  instance?" 

"What  job?"  cried  Martin.    "Heaps  of  them." 

At  this  point  a  diversion  was  created  by  the  entrance 
of  "Lily"  Laughton.  Both  Martin  and  Dunn  envied  the 
easy  grace  of  his  manner,  his  perfect  self-possession,  as 
he  greeted  each  member  of  the  company.  For  each  he 
had  exactly  the  right  word.  Miss  Brodie  he  greeted 
with  an  exaggerated  devotion,  but  when  he  shook  hands 
with  Dunn  there  was  no  mistaking  the  genuine  warmth 
of  his  affection. 

"Heard  you  were  home,  old  chap,  so  I  couldn't  help 
dropping  in.  Of  course  I  knew  that  Mrs.  Dunn  would 
be  sure  to  be  here,  and  I  more  than  suspected  that  my 
dear  Miss  Brodie,"  here  he  swept  her  an  elaborate  bow, 
"whom  I  discovered  to  be  away  from  her  own  home, 
might  be  found  in  this  pleasant  company." 


THE    WASTER'S    REFUGE  93 

"Yes,  I  fear  that  my  devotion  to  her  youngest  boy  is 
leading  me  to  overstep  the  bounds  of  even  Mrs.  Dunn's 
vast  and  generous  hospitality." 

"Not  a  bit,  my  dear,"  replied  Mrs.  Dunn  kindly. 
"You  bring  sunshine  with  you,  and  you  do  us  all  good." 

"Exactly  my  sentiments!"  exclaimed  "Lily"  with 
enthusiasm.  "But  what  are  you  all  doing?  Just  having 
a  'collyshog'?" 

For  a  moment  no  one  replied;  then  Dunn  said,  "We 
were  just  talking  about  Cameron,  who  is  thinking  of 
going  to  Canada." 

"To  Canada  of  all  places !"  exclaimed  "Lily"  in  tones 
of  horrified  surprise.  "How  truly  dreadful!  But  why 
should  Cameron  of  all  beings  exile  himself  in  those 
remote  and  barbarous  regions?" 

"And  why  should  he  not?"  cried  Miss  Brodie.  "What 
is  there  for  a  young  man  of  spirit  in  Mr.  Cameron's 
position  in  this  country?" 

"Why,  my  dear  Miss  Brodie,  how  can  you  ask?  Just 
think  of  the  heaps  of  things,  of  perfectly  delicious  things, 
Cameron  can  do, — the  Highlands  in  summer,  Edin- 
burgh, London,  in  the  season,  a  run  to  the  Continent! 
Just  think  of  the  wild  possibility  of  a  life  of  unalloyed 
bliss!" 

"Don't  be  silly !"  said  Miss  Brodie.  "We  are  talking 
seriously." 

"Seriously!  Why,  my  dear  Miss  Brodie,  do  you  im- 
agine— ?" 

"But  what  could  he  do  for  a  life-work?"  said  Dunn. 
"A  fellow  must  have  something  to  do." 

"Oh,  dear,  I  suppose  so,"  said  "Lily"  with  a  sigh. 
"But  surely  he  could  have  some  position  in  an  office  or 
something !" 

"Exactly!"  replied  Miss  Brodie.     "How  beautifully] 


94  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

you  put  it !  Now  Mr.  Martin  was  just  about  to  tell  us 
of  the  things  a  man  could  do  in  Canada  when  you  inter- 
rupted." 

"Awfully  sorry,  Martin.  I  apologise.  Please  go  on. 
What  do  the  natives  do  in  Canada?" 

"Please  don't  pay  any  attention  to  him,  Mr.  Martin. 
I  am  extremely  interested.  Now  tell  me,  what  are  the 
openings  for  a  young  fellow  in  Canada?  You  said  the 
professions  are  all  wide  open." 

It  took  a  little  persuasion  to  get  Martin  started  again, 
so  disgusted  was  he  with.  Laughton's  references  to 
his  native  country.  "Yes,  Miss  Brodie,  the  professions 
are  all  wide  open,  but  of  course  men  must  enter  as  they 
do  here,  but  with  a  difference.  Take  law,  for  instance : 
Knew  a  chap — went  into  an  office  at  ten  dollars  a  month 
— didn't  know  a  thing  about  it.  In  three  months  he  was 
raised  to  twenty  dollars,  and  within  a  year  to  forty 
dollars.  In  three  or  four  years  he  had  passed  his  exams., 
got  a  junior  partnership  worth  easily  two  thousand  dol- 
lars a  year.  They  wanted  that  chap,  and  wanted  him 
badly.  But  take  business:  That  chap  goes  into  a  store 
and—" 

"A  store?"  inquired  "Lily." 

"Yes,  a  shop  you  call  it  here ;  say  a  drygoods — " 

"Drygpods?  What  extraordinary  terms  these  Colo- 
nials use !" 

"Oh,  draper's  shop,"  said  Dunn  impatiently.  "Go  on, 
Martin;  don't  mind  him." 

"A  draper's  clerk !"  echoed  "Lily."  "To  sell  tapes  and 
things?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Martin  stoutly;  "or  groceries." 

"Do  you  by  any  chance  mean  that  a  University  man, 
a  gentleman,  takes  a  position  in  a  grocer's  shop  to  sell 
butter  and  cheese?" 


THE    WASTER'S    EEFUGE  95 

"I  mean  just  that,"  said  Martin  firmly. 

"Oh,  please  I"  said  "Lily"  with  a  violent  shudder.  "It 
is  too  awful!" 

"There  you  are!    You  wouldn't  demean  yourself." 

"Not  I !"  said  "Lily"  fervently. 

"Or  disgrace  your  friends.  You  want  a  gentleman's 
job.  There  are  not  enough  to  go  round  in  Canada." 

"Oh,  go  on,"  said  Miss  Brodie  impatiently.  "  'Lily/ 
we  must  ask  you  to  not  interrupt.  What  happens? 
Does  he  stay  there?" 

"Not  he!"  said  Martin.  "From  the  small  business 
he  goes  to  bigger  business.  First  thing  you  know  a  man 
wants  him  for  a  big  job  and  off  he  goes.  Meantime  he 
saves  his  money,  invests  wisely.  Soon  he  is  his  own 
boss." 

"That's  fine !"  cried  Miss  Brodie.  "Go  on,  Mr.  Martin. 
Start  him  lower  down." 

"All  right,"  said  Martin,  directing  his  attention  solely 
to  the  young  lady.  "Here's  an  actual  case.  A  young 
fellow  from  Scotland  found  himself  strapped — " 

"Strapped?  WThat  does  he  mean?"  said  "Lily"  in  an 
appealing  voice. 

"On  the  rocks." 

"Rocks?" 

"Dear  me!"  cried  Miss  Brodie  impatiently.  "You 
are  terribly  lacking  in  imagination.  Broke,  he 
means." 

"Oh,  thanks !" 

"Well,  finds  himself  broke,"  said  Martin;  "gets  a 
shovel,  jumps  into  a  cellar — " 

"And  why  a  cellar,  pray?"  inquires  "Lily"  mildly. 
"To  hide  himself  from  the  public?" 

"Not  at  all ;  they  were  Digging  a  cellar  preparatory  to 
building  a  house." 


96  CORPORAL    CAMEKON 

"Oh !" 

"He  jumps  in,  blisters  his  hands,  breaks  his  back — 
but  he  stays  with  the  job.  In  a  week  the  boss  makes  him 
timekeeper ;  in  three  months  he  himself  is  boss  of  a  small 
gang;  the  next  year  he  is  made  foreman  at  a  hundred 
a  month  or  so." 

"A  hundred  a  month?"  cries  "Lily"  in  astonishment. 
"Oh,  Martin,  please!  We  are  green,  but  a  hundred 
pounds  a  month — !" 

"Dollars,"  said  Martin  shortly.  "Don't  be  an  ass! 
I  beg  pardon,"  he  added,  turning  to  Mrs.  Dunn,  who  was 
meantime  greatly  amused. 

"A  hundred  dollars  a  month;  that  is — I  am  so  weak 
in  arithmetic — twenty  pounds,  I  understand.  Go  on, 
Martin ;  I'm  waiting  for  the  carriage  and  pair." 

"That's  where  you  get  left,"  said  Martin.  "No  car- 
riage and  pair  for  this  chap  yet  awhile;  overalls  and 
slouch  hat  for  the  next  five  years  for  him.  Then  he 
begins  contracting  on  his  own." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  says  "Lily." 

"I  mean  he  begins  taking  jobs  on  his  own." 

"Great !"  cried  Miss  Brodie. 

"Or,"  continued  Martin,  now  fairly  started  on  a 
favourite  theme,  "there  are  the  railroads  all  shouting 
for  men  of  experience,  whether  in  the  construction  de- 
partment or  in  the  operating  department." 

"Does  anyone  here  happen  to  understand  him?"  in- 
quires "Lily"  faintly. 

"Certainly,"  cried  Miss  Brodie;  "all  the  intelligent 
people  do.  At  least,  I've  a  kind  of  notion  there  are  big 
things  doing.  I  only  wish  I  were  a  man !" 

"Oh,  Miss  Brodie,  how  can  you?"  cried  "Lily." 
"Think  of  us  in  such  a  contingency !" 

"But,"  said  Mr.  Rae,  "all  of  this  is  most  interesting, 


THE    WASTER'S    REFUGE  97 

extremely  interesting,  Mr.  Martin.  Still,  they  cannot 
all  arrive  at  these  exalted  positions." 

"No,  Mr.  Rae.  I  may  have  given  that  impression.  I 
confess  to  a  little  madness  when  I  begin  talking  Can- 
ada." 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  "Lily." 

"But  I  said  men  of  brawn  and  brains,  you  remem- 
ber." 

"And  bounce,  to  perfect  the  alliteration,"  murmured 
"Lily." 

"Yes,  bounce,  too,"  said  Martin;  "at  least,  he  must 
never  take  back-water;  he  must  be  ready  to  attempt 
anything,  even  the  impossible." 

"That's  the  splendid  thing  about  it!"  cried  Miss 
Brodie.  "You're  entirely  on  your  own  and  you  never 
say  die!" 

"Oh,  my  dear  Miss  Brodie,"  moaned  "Lily"  in  piteous 
accents,  "you  are  so  fearfully  energetic !  And  then,  it's 
all  very  splendid,  but  just  think  of  a — of  a  gentleman 
having  to  potter  around  among  butter  and  cheese,  or 
mess  about  in  muddy  cellars!  Ugh!  Positively 
ghawstly!  I  would  simply  die." 

"Oh,  no,  you  wouldn't,  'Lily,' "  said  Martin  kindly. 
"'We  have  afternoon  teas  and  Browning  Clubs,  too,  you 
must  remember,  and  some  'cultchaw'  and  that  sort  of 
thing." 

There  was  a  joyous  shout  from  Dunn. 

"But,  Mr.  Martin,"  persisted  Mr.  Rae,  whose  mind 
was  set  in  arriving  at  a  solution  of  the  problem  in  hand, 
"I  have  understood  that  agriculture  was  the  chief  pur- 
suit in  Canada." 

"Farming!  Yes,  it  is,  but  of  course  that  means  cap- 
ital. Good  land  in  Ontario  means  seventy-five  to  a  hun- 
dred dollars  per  acre,  and  a  man  can't  do  with  less  than 


98  COKPOEAL    CAMERON 

a  hundred  acres;  besides,  farming  is  getting  to  be  a 
science  now-a-days,  Sir." 

"Ah,  quite  true !  But  to  a  young  man  bred  on  a  farm 
in  this  country — " 

"Excuse  me,  Mr.  Rae,"  replied  Martin  quickly,  "there 
is  no  such  thing  in  Canada  as  a  gentleman  farmer.  The 
farmer  works  with  his  men." 

"Do  you  mean  that  he  actually  works?"  inquired 
"Lily."  "With  the  plough  and  hoe,  and  that  sort  of 
thing?" 

"Works  all  day  long,  as  long  as  any  of  his  men,  and 
indeed  longer." 

"And  does  he  actually  live — ?  of  course  he  doesn't  eat 
with  his  servants?"  said  "Lily"  in  a  tone  that  deprecated 
the  preposterous  proposition. 

"They  all  eat  together  in  the  big  kitchen,"  replied 
Martin. 

"How  awful!"  gasped  "Lily." 

"My  father  does,"  replied  Martin,  a  little  colour  rising 
in  his  cheek,  "and.  my  mother,  and.  my  brothers.  They 
all  eat  with  the  men;  my  sister,  too,  except  when  she 
waits  on  table." 

"Fine!"  exclaimed  Miss  Brodie.  "And  why  not? 
'Lily/  Fm  afraid  you're  horribly  snobbish." 

"Thank  the  Lord,"  said  "Lily"  devoutly,  "I  live  in 
this  beloved  Scotland !" 

"But,  Mr.  Martin,  forgive  my  persistence,  I  under- 
stand there  is  cheaper  land  in  certain  parts  of  Canada; 
in,  say,  Manitofeaw." 

"Ah,  yes,  Sir,  of  course,  lots  of  it ;  square  miles  of  it !" 
cried  Martin  with  enthusiasm.  "The  very  best  out  of 
doors,  and  cheap,  but  I  fancy  there  are  some  hardships 
in  Manitoba." 

"But  I  see  by  the  public  newspapers,"  continued  Mr. 


THE    WASTER'S    REFUGE  99 

Rae,  "that  there  is  a  very  large  movement  in  the  way 
of  emigration  toward  that  country." 

"Yes,  there's  a  great  boom  on  in  Manitoba  just  now." 

"Boom?"  said  "Lily."  "And  what  exactly  may  that 
be  in  the  vernacular?" 

"I  take  it,"  said  Mr.  Rae,  evidently  determined  not  to 
allow  the  conversation  to  get  out  of  his  hands,  "you 
mean  a  great  excitement  consequent  upon  the  emigra- 
tion and  the  natural  rise  in  land  values?" 

"Yes,  Sir,"  cried  Martin,  "you've  hit  it  exactly." 

"Then  would  there  not  be  opportunity  to  secure  a  con- 
siderable amount  of  land  at  a  low  figure  in  that  coun- 
try?" 

"Most  certainly!  But  it's  fair  to  say  that  success 
there  means  work  and  hardship  and  privation.  Of  course 
it  is  always  so  in  a  new  country;  it  was  so  in  Ontario. 
Why,  the  new  settlers  in  Manitoba  don't  know  what 
hardships  mean  in  comparison  with  those  that  faced  the 
early  settlers  in  Ontario.  My  father,  when  a  little  boy 
of  ten  years,  went  with  his  father  into  the  solid  forest ; 
you  don't  know  what  that  means  in  this  country,  and  no 
one  can  who  has  not  seen  a  solid  mass  of  green  reaching 
from  the  ground  a  hundred  feet  high  without  a  break  in 
it  except  where  the  trail  enters.  Into  that  solid  forest 
in  single  file  went  my  grandfather,  his  two  little  boys, 
and  one  ox  carrying  a  bag  of  flour,  some  pork  and  stuff. 
By  a  mark  on  a  tree  they  found  the  corner  of  their  farm." 
Martin  paused. 

"Do  go  on,"  said  Miss  Brodie.  "Tell  me  the  very 
first  thing  he  did." 

But  Martin  seemed  to  hesitate.  "Well,"  he  began 
slowly,  "I've  often  heard  my  father  tell  it.  When  they 
came  to  that  tree  with  the  mark  on  it,  grandfather  said, 
'Boys,  we  have  reached  our  home.  Let  us  thank  God/ 


100  COKPORAL    CAMERON 

He  went  up  to  a  big  spruce  tree,  drove  his  ax  in  to  the 
butt,  then  kneeled  down  with  the  two  litle  boys  beside 
him,  and  I  have  heard  my  father  say  that  when  he  looked 
away  up  between  the  big  trees  and  saw  the  bit  of  blue 
sky  there,  he  thought  God  was  listening  at  that  blue  hole 
between  the  tree-tops."  Martin  paused  abruptly,  and 
for  a  few  moments  silence  held  the  group.  Then  Doctor 
Dunn,  clearing  his  throat,  said  with  quiet  emphasis : 

"And  he  was  right,  my  boy ;  make  no  doubt  of  that." 

"Then?"  inquired  Miss  Brodie  softly.  "If  you  don't 
mind." 

Martin  laughed.  "Then  they  had  grub,  and  that  after- 
noon grandfather  cut  the  trees  and  the  boys  limbed  them 
off,  clearing  the  ground  where  the  first  house  stood. 
That  night  they  slept  in  a  little  brush  hut  that  did  them 
for  a  house  until  grandmother  came  two  weeks  later." 

"What?"  said  Doctor  Dunn.  "Your  grandmother 
went  into  the  forest?" 

"Yes,  Sir,"  said  Martin ;  "and  two  miles  of  solid  black 
bush  stretched  between  her  and  the  next  woman." 

"Why,  of  course,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Dunn,  taking 
part  for  the  first  time  in  the  conversation.  "What 
else?" 

They  all  laughed. 

"Of  course,  Mother,"  said  her  eldest  son,  "that's  what 
you  would  do." 

"So  would  I,  Mamma,  wouldn't  I?"  whispered  Rob, 
leaning  towards  her. 

"Certainly,  my  dear,"  replied  his  mother;  "I  haven't 
the  slightest  doubt." 

"And  so  would  any  woman  worth  her  salt  if  she  loved 
her  husband,"  cried  Miss  Brodie  with  great  emphasis. 

"Why,  why,"  cried  Doctor  Dunn,  "it's  the  same  old 
breed,  Mother." 


THE    WASTER'S    REFUGE          101 

"But  in  Manitoba — ?"  began  Mr.  Rae,  still  clinging 
to  the  subject. 

"Oh,  in  Manitoba  there  is  no  forest  to  cut.  However, 
there  are  other  difficulties.  Still,  hundreds  are  crowd- 
ing in,  and  any  man  who  has  the  courage  and  the  nerve 
to  stay  with  it  can  get  on." 

"And  what  did  they  do  for  schools?"  said  Mrs.  Dunn, 
returning  to  the  theme  that  had  so  greatly  interested  her. 

"There  were  no  schools  until  father  was  too  big  to  be 
spared  to  go  except  for  a  few  weeks  in  the  winter." 

"How  big  do  you  mean?" 

"Say  fifteen." 

"Fifteen !"  exclaimed  Miss  Brodie.    "A  mere  infant !" 

"Infant!"  said  Martin.  "Not  much!  At  fifteen  my 
father  was  doing  a  man's  full  work  in  the  bush  and  on 
the  farm,  and  when  he  grew  to  be  a  man  he  cleared  most 
of  his  own  land,  too.  Why,  when  I  was  eleven  I  drove 
my  team  all  day  on  the  farm." 

"And  how  did  you  get  your  education,  Mr.  Martin?" 

"Oh,  they  kept  me  at  school  pretty  steadily,  except  in 
harvest  and  hay  time,  until  I  was  fourteen,  and  after 
that  in  the  winter  months.  When  I  was  sixteen  I  got  a 
teacher's  certificate,  and  then  it  was  easy  enough." 

"And  did  you  put  yourself  through  college?"  inquired 
Mr.  Rae,  both  interest  and  admiration  in  his  voice,  for 
now  they  were  on  ground  familiar  in  his  own  experience. 

"Why,  yes,  mostly.  Father  helped,  I  suspect  more 
than  he  ought  to,  but  he  was  anxious  for  me  to  get 
through." 

"Rob,"  cried  Miss  Brodie  suddenly,  "let's  go!  What 
do  you  say?  We'll  get  a  big  bit  of  that  land  in  the  West, 
and  won't  it  be  splendid  to  build  up  our  own  estate  and 
all  that?" 

Rob  glanced  from  her  into  his  mother's  face.    "I'd 


102  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

like  it  fine,  Mamma,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  slipping  his 
hand  into  hers. 

"But  what  about  me,  Bob?"  said  kis  mother,  smiling 
tenderly  down  into  the  eager  face. 

"Oh,  I'd  come  back  for  you,  Mamma." 

"Hold  on  there,  youngster,"  said  his  elder  brother, 
"there  are  others  that  might  have  something  to  say 
about  that.  But  I  say,  Martin,"  continued  Dunn,  "we 
hear  a  lot  about  the  big  ranches  further  West." 

"Yes,  in  Alberta,  but  I  confess  I  don't  know  much 
about  them.  The  railways  are  just  building  and  people 
are  beginning  to  go  in.  But  ranching  needs  capital,  too. 
It  must  be  a  great  life!  They  practically  live  in  the 
saddle.  It's  a  glorious  country !" 

"On  the  whole,  then,"  said  Mr.  Rae,  as  if  summing  up 
the  discussion,  "a  young  man  has  better  opportunities 
of  making  his  fortune,  so  to  speak,  in  the  far  West 
rather  than  in,  say,  Ontario." 

"I  didn't  speak  of  fortune,  Mr.  Eae, — fortune  is  a 
chance  thing,  more  or  less, — but  what  I  say  is  this,  that 
any  young  man  not  afraid  of  work,  of  any  kind  of  work, 
and  willing  to  stay  with  his  job,  can  make  a  living  and 
get  a  home  in  any  part  of  Canada,  with  a  bigger  chance 
of  fortune  in  the  West." 

"All  I  say,  Mr.  Rae,  is  this,"  said  Miss  Brodie  emphat- 
ically, "that  I  only  wish  I  were  a  man  with  just  such  a 
chance  as  young  Cameron!" 

"Ah,  my  dear  young  lady,  if  all  the  young  men  were 
possessed  of  your  spirit,  it  would  matter  little  where 
they  went,  for  they  would  achieve  distinct  success."  As 
he  spoke  Mr.  Rae's  smile  burst  forth  in  all  its  effulgent 
glory. 

"Dear  Mr.  Rae,  how  very  clever  of  you  to  discover 
that!"  replied  Miss  Brodie,  smiling  sweetly  into  Mr. 


THE    WASTER'S    REFUGE  103 

Rae's  radiant  face.  "And  how  very  sweet  of  you — ah, 
I  beg  your  pardon;  that  is — "  The  disconcerting 
rapidity  with  which  Mr.  Rae's  smile  gave  place  to  an 
appearance  of  grave,  of  even  severe  solemnity,  threw 
Miss  Brodie  quite  "out  of  her  stride,"  as  Martin  said 
afterward,  and  left  her  floundering  in  a  hopeless  attempt 
to  complete  her  compliment. 

Her  confusion  was  the  occasion  of  unlimited  joy  to 
"Lily,"  who  was  not  unfamiliar  with  this  facial  phenom- 
enon on  the  part  of  Mr.  Rae.  "Oh,  I  say!"  he  cried  to 
Dunn  in  a  gale  of  smothered  laughter,  "how  does  the 
dear  man  do  it?  It  is  really  too  lovely!  I  must  learn 
the  trick  of  that.  I  have  never  seen  anything  quite  so* 
appallingly  flabbergasting." 

Meantime  Mr.  Rae  was  blandly  assisting  Miss  Brodie 
out  of  her  dilemma.  "Not  at  all,  Miss  Brodie,  not  at 
all!  But,"  he  continued,  throwing  his  smile  about  the 
room,  "I  think,  Doctor  Dunn,  we  have  reason  to  con- 
gratulate ourselves  upon  not  only  a  pleasant  but  an 
extremely  profitable  evening — ah — as  far  as  the  matter 
in  hand  is  concerned.  I  hope  to  have  further  speech 
with  our  young  friend,"  bowing  to  Mr.  Martin  and  bring- 
ing his  smile  to  bear  upon  that  young  gentleman. 

"Oh,  certainly,"  began  Martin  with  ready  geniality, 
"whenever  you — eh?  What  did  you  say,  Sir?  I  didn't 
quite—" 

But  Mr.  Rae  was  already  bidding  Mrs.  Dunn  good- 
night, with  a  face  of  preternatural  gravity. 

"What  the  deuce !"  said  Martin,  turning  to  his  friend 
Dunn.  "Does  the  old  boy  often  go  off  at  half-cock  that 
way?  He'll  hurt  himself  some  time,  sure." 

"Isn't  it  awful?"  said  Dunn.  "He's  got  me  a  few 
times  that  way,  too.  But  I  say,  old  boy,  we're  awfully 
grateful  to  you  for  coming." 


104  COKPOKAL    CAMERON 

"I  feel  like  a  fool,"  said  Martin ;  "as  if  I'd  been  deliv- 
ering a  lecture." 

"Don't  think  it,"  cried  Miss  Brodie,  who  had  drawn 
near.  "You've  been  perfectly  lovely,  and  I  am  so  glad 
to  have  got  to  know  you  better.  For  me,  I  am  quite 
resolved  to  go  to  Canada." 

"But  do  you  think  they  can  really  spare  us  all,  Miss 
Brodie?"  exclaimed  "Lily"  in  an  anxious  voice.  "For, 
of  course,  if  you  go  we  must." 

"No,  'Lily/  I'm  quite  sure  they  can't  spare  you.  Just 
think,  what  could  the  Browning- Wagner  circle  do?  Be- 
sides, what  could  we  do  with  you  when  we  were  all  work- 
ing, for  I  can  quite  see  that  there  is  no  use  going  to 
Canada  unless  you  mean  to  work?" 

"You've  got  it,  Miss  Brodie,"  said.  Martin.  "My  lec- 
ture is  not  in  vain.  There  is  no  use  going  to  Canada 
unless  you  mean  to  work  and  to  stay  with  the  job  till 
the  cows  come  home." 

"Till  the  cows  come — ?"  gasped  "Lily." 

"Oh,  never  mind  him,  Mr.  Martin !  Come,  'Lily'  dear, 
I'll  explain  it  to  you  on  the  way  home.  Good-night,  Mr. 
Dunn ;  we've  had  a  jolly  evening.  And  as  for  our  friend 
Cameron,  I've  ceased  to  pity  him;  on  the  contrary,  I 
envy  him  his  luck." 


FAREWELL    TO    CUAGH    OIK       105 
CHAPTER  VII 

FAREWELL  TO  CUAGH  OIE 

ONCE  more  the  golden  light  of  a  sunny  spring  day 
was  shining  on  the  sapphire  loch  at  the  bottom, 
and  overflowing  at  the  rim  of  the  Cuagh  Oir. 
But  for  all  its  flowing  gold,  there  was  grief  in  the  Glen 
— grief  deep  and  silent,  like  the  quiet  waters  of  the  little 
loch.  It  was  seen  in  the  grave  faces  of  the  men  who 
gathered  at  the  "srniddy."  It  was  heard  in  the  cadence 
of  the  voices  of  the  women  as  they  gathered  to  "kalie" 
(Ceilidh)  in  the  little  cottages  that  fringed  the  loch's 
side,  or  dotted  the  heather-clad  slopes.  It  even  checked 
the  boisterous  play  of  the  bairns  as  they  came  in  from 
school.  It  lay  like  a  cloud  on  the  Cuagh,  and  heavy  on 
the  hearts  that  made  up  the  little  hill-girt  community 
of  one  hundred  souls,  or  more. 

And  the  grief  was  this,  that  on  the  "morrow's  morn" 
Mary  Robertson's  son  was  departing  from  the  Glen 
"neffer  to  return  for  effermore,"  as  Donald  of  the  House 
farm  put  it,  with  a  face  gloomy  as  the  loch  on  a  dark 
winter's  day. 

"A  leaving"  was  ever  an  occasion  of  wailing  to  the 
Glen,  and  many  a  leaving  had  the  Glen  known  during 
the  last  fifty  years.  For  wherever  the  tartan  waved, 
and  the  bonnie  feathers  danced  for  the  glory  of  the  Em- 
pire, sons  of  the  Glen  were  ever  to  be  found ;  but  not  for 
fifty  years  had  the  heart  of  the  Glen  known  the  luxury 
of  a  single  rallying  centre  for  their  pride  and  their  love 
till  the  "young  chentleman,"  young  Mr.  Allan,  began  to 
go  in  and  out  among  them.  And  as  he  grew  into  man- 
hood so  grew  their  pride  in  him.  And  as,  from  time  to 
time,  at  the  Great  Games  he  began  to  win  glory  for  the 


106  CORPORAL    CAM  EBON 

Glen  with  his  feats  of  skill  and  strength,  and  upon  the 
pipes,  and  in  the  dances,  their  pride  in  him  grew  until 
it  passed  all  limits.  Had  he  not,  the  very  year  before 
he  went  to  the  college,  cut  the  comb  of  the  "Cock  of  the 
North"  from  Glen  Urquhart,  in  running  and  jumping; 
and  the  very  same  year  had  he  not  wrested  from  Callum 
Bheg,  the  pride  of  Athole,  the  coveted  badge  of  Special 
Distinction  in  Highland  Dancing?  Then  later,  when 
the  schoolmaster  would  read  from  the  Inverness  Courier 
to  one  group  after  another  at  the  post  office  and  at  the 
"smiddy"  (it  was  only  fear  of  the  elder  MacPherson, 
that  kept  the  master  from  reading  it  aloud  at  the  kirk 
door  before  the  service)  accounts  of  the  "remarkable 
playing"  of  Cameron,  the  brilliant  young  "half-back"  of 
the  Academy  in  Edinburgh,  the  Glen  settled  down  into 
an  assured  conviction  that  it  had  reached  the  pinnacle  of 
vicarious  glory,  and  that  in  all  Scotland  there  was  none 
to  compare  with  their  young  "chieftain"  as,  quite  ignor- 
ing the  Captain,  they  loved  to  call  him. 

And  there  was  more  than  pride  in  him,  for  on  nis 
holidays  he  came  back  to  the  Glen  unspoiled  by  all  his 
honours  and  achievements,  and  went  about  among  them 
"jist  like  ain  o'  their  ain  sels,"  accepting  their  homage 
as  his  right,  but  giving  them  in  return,  according  to 
their  various  stations,  due  respect  and  honour,  and  their 
love  grew  greater  than  their  pride. 

But  the  "morrow's  morn"  he  was  leaving  the  Glen, 
and,  worse  than  all,  no  one  knew  for  why.  A  mystery 
hung  over  the  cause  of  his  going,  a  mystery  deepened 
by  his  own  bearing  during  the  past  twelve  months, 
for  all  these  months  a  heavy  gloom  .had  shrouded  him, 
and  from  all  that  had  once  been  his  delight  and  their 
glory  he  had  withdrawn.  The  challenge,  indeed,  from 
the  men  of  Glen  Urquhart  which  he  had  accepted  long 


FAREWELL    TO    CUAGH    OIR       107 

ago,  he  refused  not,  but  even  the  overwhelming  defeat 
which  he  had  administered  to  his  haughty  challengers, 
had  apparently  brought  him  no  more  than  a  passing 
gleam  of  joy.  The  gloom  remained  unlifted  and  the 
cause  the  Glen  knew  not,  and  no  man  of  them  would 
seek  to  know.  Hence  the  grief  of  the  Glen  was  no  com- 
mon grief  when  the  son  of  Mary  Robertson,  the  son  of 
the  House,  the  pride  of  the  Glen,  and  the  comrade  and 
friend  of  them  all,  was  about  to  depart  and  never  to 
return. 

His  last  day  in  the  Glen  Allan  spent  making  his 
painful  way  through  the  cottages,  leaving  his  farewell, 
and.  with  each  some  slight  gift  of  remembrance.  It 
was  for  him,  indeed,  a  pilgrimage  of  woe.  It  was  not 
only  that  his  heart  roots  were  in  the  Glen  and  knit 
round  every  stick  and  stone  of  it;  it  was  not  that  he 
felt  he  was  leaving  behind  him  a  love  and  loyalty  as 
deep  and  lasting  as  life  itself.  It  was  that  in  tearing 
himself  from  them  he  could  make  no  response  to  the 
dumb  appeal  in  the  eyes  that  followed  him  with  adora- 
tion and  fidelity :  "Wherefore  do  you  leave  us  at  all?"  and 
"Why  do  you  make  no  promise  of  return?"  To  that 
dumb  appeal  there  was  no  answer  possible  from  one  who 
carried  on  his  heart  for  himself,  and  on  his  life  for  some 
few  others,  and  among  these  his  own  father,  the  terrible 
brand  of  the  criminal.  It  was  this  grim  fact  that 
stained  black  the  whole  landscape  of  his  consciousness, 
and  that  hung  like  a  pall  of  death  over  every  living  and 
delightsome  thing  in  the  garden  of  his  soul.  While 
none  could,  without  challenge,  condemn  him,  yet  his 
own  tongue  refused  to  proclaim  his  innocence.  Every 
face  he  loved  drove  deeper  into  his  heart  his  pain.  The 
deathless  loyalty  and  unbounded  pride  of  the  Glen  folk 
rebuked  him,  without  their  knowing,  for  the  dishonour 


108  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

he  had  done  them.  The  Glen  itself,  the  hills,  the  pur- 
pling heather,  the  gleaming  loch,  how  dear  to  him  he 
had  never  known  till  now,  threw  in  his  face  a  sad  and 
silent  reproach.  Small  wonder  that  the  Glen,  that  Scot- 
land had  become  intolerable  to  him.  With  this  bitter 
burden  on  his  heart  it  was  that  young  Mr.  Allan  went 
his  way  through  the  Glen  making  his  farewells,  not 
daring  to  indulge  the  luxury  of  his  grief,  and  with  never 
a  word  of  return. 

His  sister,  who  knew  all,  and  who  would  have  carried 
— oh!  how  gladly! — on  her  own  heart,  and  for  all  her 
life  long,  that  bitter  burden,  pleaded  to  be  allowed  to  go 
with  him  on  what  she  knew  full  well  was  a  journey  of 
sorrow  and  sore  pain,  but  this  he  would  not  permit. 
This  sorrow  and  pain  which  were  his  own,  he  would 
share  with  no  one,  and  least  of  all  with  her  upon  whose 
life  he  had  already  cast  so  dark  a  shadow.  Hence  she 
was  at  the  house  alone,  her  father  not  having  yet  re- 
turned from  an  important  meeting  at  a  neighbouring 
village,  when  a  young  man  came  to  the  door  asking  for 
young  Mr.  Cameron. 

"Who  is  it,  Kirsty?"  she  inquired  anxiously,  a  new 
fear  at  her  heart  for  her  brother. 

"I  know  not,  but  he  has  neffer  been  in  this  Glen  before 
whateffer,"  replied  Kirsty,  with  an  ominous  shake  of  the 
head,  her  primitive  instincts  leading  her  to  view  the 
stranger  with  suspicion.  "But!"  she  added,  with  a 
glance  at  her  young  mistress'  face,  "he  iss  no  man  to 
be  afraid  of,  at  any  rate.  He  is  just  a  laddie." 

"Oh,  he  is  a  young  man,  Kirsty?"  replied  her  mis- 
tress, glancing  at  her  blue  serge  gown,  her  second  best, 
and  with  her  hands  striving  to  tuck  in  some  of  her  way- 
ward curls. 

"Och,  yess,  and  not  much  at  that!"  replied  Kirsty, 


FAREWELL    TO    CUAGH    OIR       109 

with  the  idea  of  relieving  her  young  mistress  of  unneces- 
sary fears. 

Then  Moira,  putting  on  her  grand  air,  stepped  into 
the  parlour,  and  saw  standing  there  and  awaiting  her,  a 
young  man  with  a  thin  and  somewhat  hard  face,  a  firm  ' 
mouth,  and  extraordinarily  keen,  grey  eyes.  Upon  her 
appearing  the  young  man  stood  looking  upon  her  with- 
out a  word.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  was  struggling  with 
a  problem;  a  problem  that  was  quite  bewildering;  the 
problem,  namely,  "How  could  hair  ever  manage  to  get 
itself  into  such  an  arrangement  of  waves  and  curls,  and 
golden  gleams  and  twinkles?"  Struggling  with  this 
problem,  he  became  conscious  of  her  voice  gravely  ques- 
tioning him.  "You  were  wishing  to  see  my  brother?" 
The  young  man  came  back  part  way,  and  replied,  "Oh ! 
how  does  it — ?  That  is — .  I  beg  your  pardon."  The 
surprise  in  her  face  brought  him  quite  to  the  ground, 
and  he  came  at  once  to  his  business.  "I  am  Mr.  Martin," 
he  said  in  a  quick,  sharp  voice.  "I  know  your  brother 
and  Mr.  Dunn."  He  noted  a  light  dawn  in  her  eyes. 
"In  fact,  I  played  with  them  on  the  same  team — at  foot- 
ball, you  know." 

"Oh !"  cried  the  girl,  relief  and  welcome  in  her  voice, 
"I  know  you,  Mr.  Martin,  quite  well.  I  know  all  about 
you,  and  what  a  splendid  quarter-back  you  are."  Here 
she  gave  him  both  her  hands,  which  Mr.  Martin  took 
in  a  kind  of  dream,  once  more  plunged  into  the  mazes 
of  another  and  more  perplexing  problem,  viz.,  Was  it 
her  lips  with  that  delicious  curve  to  them?  or  her  eyes 
so  sunny  and  brown  (or  were  they  brown?)  with  that 
alluring,  bewitching  twinkle?  or  was  it  both  lips  and 
eyes  that  gave  to  the  smile  with  which  she  welcomed 
him  its  subtle  power  to  make  his  heart  rise  and  choke 
him  as  it  never  had  been  known  to  do  in  the  most  strenu- 


110  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

ous  of  his  matches?  "I'm  awfully  glad,"  he  heard  him- 
self say,  and  her  voice  replying,  "Oh,  yes!  Allan  has 
often  and  often  spoken  of  you,  Mr.  Martin."  Mr.  Mar- 
tin immediately  became  conscious  of  a  profound  and 
grateful  affection  to  Allan,  still  struggling,  however, 
with  the  problem  which  had  been  complicated  still  fur- 
ther by  the  charm  of  her  soft,  Highland  voice.  He  was 
on  the  point  of  deciding  in  favour  of  her  voice,  when  on 
her  face  he  noted  a  swift  change  from  glad  welcome  to 
suspicion  and  fear,  and  then  into  her  sunny  eyes  a 
sudden  leaping  of  fierce  wrath,  as  in  those  of  a  lioness 
defending  her  young. 

"Why  do  you  look  so?"  she  cried  in  a  voice  sharp 
and  imperious.  "Is  it  my  brother — ?  Is  anything 
wrong?" 

The  shock  of  the  change  in  eyes  and  voice  brought 
Martin  quite  to  himself. 

"Wrong?  Not  a  bit,"  he  hastened  to  say,  "but  just 
the  finest  thing  in  the  world.  It  is  all  here  in  this  letter. 
Dunn  could  not  come  himself,  and  there  was  no  one  else, 
and  he  thought  Cameron  ought  to  have  it  to-day,  so  here 
I  am,  and  here  is  the  letter.  Where  is  he?" 

"Oh!"  cried  the  girl,  clasping  her  hands  upon  her 
heart,  her  voice  growing  soft,  and  her  eyes  dim  with  a 
sudden  mist.  "I  am  so  thankful !  I  am  so  glad !"  The 
change  in  her  voice  and  in  her  eyes  so  affected  Mr. 
Martin  that  he  put  his  hands  resolutely  behind  his  back 
lest  they  should  play  him  tricks,  and  should,  without  his 
will,  get  themselves  round  her  and  draw  her  close  to  his 
heart. 

"So  am  I,"  he  said,  "awfully  glad!  Never  was  so 
glad  in  all  my  life!"  He  was  more  conscious  than  ever 
of  bewilderment  and  perplexity  in  the  midst  of  increas- 
ing problems  that  complicated  themselves  with  mist 


FAREWELL    TO    CUAGH    OIK       111 

brown  eyes,  trembling  lips,  and  a  voice  of  such  pathetic 
cadences  as  aroused  in  him  an  almost  uncontrollable 
desire  to  exercise  his  utmost  powers  of  comfort.  And  all 
the  while  there  was  growing  in  his  heart  a  desperate 
anxiety  as  to  what  would  be  the  final  issue  of  these  be- 
wildering desires  and  perplexities ;  when  at  the  extremity 
of  his  self-control  he  was  saved  by  the  girl's  suggestion. 

"Let  us  go  and  find  my  brother." 

"Oh,  yes!"  cried  Martin,  "for  heaven's  sake  let  us." 

"Wait  until  I  get  my  hat." 

"Oh !    I  wouldn't  put  on  a  hat,"  cried  he  in  dismay. 

"\Vhy?"  enquired  the  girl,  looking  at  him  with  sur- 
prised curiosity. 

"Oh!  because — because  you  don't  need  one;  it's  so 
beautiful  and  sunny,  you  know."  In  spite  of  what  he 
could  do  Mr.  Martin's  eyes  kept  wandering  to  her  hair. 

"Oh,  wrell!"  cried  Moira,  in  increasing  surprise  at 
this  strange  young  man,  "the  sun  won't  hurt  me,  so 
come,  let  us  go." 

Together  they  went  down  the  avenue  of  rugged  firs. 
At  the  highway  she  paused.  Before  them  lay  the  Glen 
in  all  the  splendid  sweep  of  its  beauty. 

"Isn't  it  lovely !"  she  breathed. 

"Lovely!"  echoed  Martin,  his  eyes  not  on  the  Glen. 
"It  is  so  sunny,  you  know." 

"Yes,"  she  answered  quickly,  "you  notice  that?" 

"How  could  I  help  it?"  said  Martin,  his  eyes  still 
resting  upon  her.  "How  could  I?" 

"Of  course,"  she  replied,  "and  so  we  call  it  the  Glen 
Cuagh  Oir,  that  is  the  'Glen  of  the  Cup  of  Gold.'  And 
to  think  he  has  to  leave  it  all  to-morrow !"  she  added. 

The  pathetic  cadences  in  her  voice  again  drove  Martin 
to  despair.  He  recovered  himself,  however,  to  say,  "But 
he  is  going  to  Canada !" 


112  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

"Yes,  to  Canada.  And  we  all  feel  it  so  dreadfully 
for  him,  and,"  she  added  in  a  lower  voice,  "for  our- 
selves." 

Had  it  been  yesterday  Martin  would  have  been  ready 
with  scorn  for  any  such  feeling,  and  with  congratula- 
tions to  Cameron  upon  his  exceptionally  good  luck  in 
the  expectation  of  going  to  Canada;  but  to-day,  some- 
how it  was  different.  He  found  the  splendid  lure  of  his 
native  land  availed  not  to  break  the  spell  of  the  Glen, 
and  as  he  followed  the  girl  in  and  out  of  the  little  cot- 
tages, seeking  her  brother,  and  as  he  noted  the  perfect 
courtesy  and  respect  which  marked  her  manner  with  the 
people,  and  their  unstudied  and  respectful  devotion  to 
their  "tear  young  leddy,"  this  spell  deepened  upon  him. 
Unconsciously  and  dimly  he  became  aware  of  a  mysteri- 
ous and  mighty  power  somehow  and  somewhere  in  the 
Glen  straining  at  the  heart-strings  of  its  children.  Of 
the  nature  and  origin  of  this  mysterious  and  mighty 
power,  the  young  Canadian  knew  little.  His  country 
was  of  too  recent  an  origin  for  mystery,  and  its  people  too 
heterogeneous  in  their  ethnic  characteristics  to  furnish 
a  soil  for  tribal  instincts  and  passions.  The  passionate 
loves  and  hatreds  of  the  clans,  their  pride  of  race,  their 
deathless  lealty ;  and  more  than  all,  and  better  than  all, 
their  religious  instincts,  faiths  and  prejudices;  these, 
with  the  mystic,  wild  loveliness  of  heather-clad  hill  and 
rock-rimmed  loch,  of  roaring  torrent  and  jagged  crags, 
of  lonely  muir  and  sunny  pasture  nuiks ;  all  these,  and 
ten  thousand  nameless  and  unnamable  things  united  in 
the  weaving  of  the  spell  of  the  Glen  upon  the  hearts  of  its 
people.  Of  how  it  all  came  to  be,  Martin  knew  nothing, 
but  like  an  atmosphere  it  stole  in  upon  him,  and  he  came 
to  vaguely  understand  something  of  what  it  meant  to  be 
a  Highlander,  and  to  bid  farewell  to  the  land  into  whose 


FAEEWELL    TO    CUAGH    OIB       113 

grim  soil  his  life  roots  had  struck  deep,  and  to  tear  him- 
self from  hearts  whose  life  stream  and  his  had  flowed 
as  one  for  a  score  of  generations.  So  from  cot  to  cot 
Martin  followed  and  observed,  until  they  came  to  the 
crossing  where  the  broad  path  led  up  from  the  highroad 
to  the  kirkyard  and  the  kirk.  Here  they  were  halted 
by  a  young  man  somewhat  older  than  Martin.  Tall  and 
gaunt  he  stood.  His  face,  pale  and  pock-marked  and  lit 
by  light  blue  eyes,  and  crowned  by  brilliant  red  hair, 
was,  with  all  its  unloveliness,  a  face  of  a  certain  rugged 
beauty ;  while  his  manner  and  bearing  showed  the  native 
courtesy  of  a  Highland  gentleman. 

"You  are  seeking  Mr.  Allan?"  he  said,  taking  off  his 
bonnet  to  the  girl.  "He  is  in  yonder,"  waving  his  hand 
towards  the  kirkyard. 

"In  yonder?  You  are  sure,  Mr.  Maclise?"  She  might 
well  ask,  for  never  but  on  Sabbath  days,  since  the  day 
they  had  laid  his  mother  away  under  the  birch  trees, 
had  Allan  put  foot  inside  the  kirkyard. 

"Half  an  hour  ago  he  went  in,"  replied,  the  young 
Highlander,  "and  he  has  not  returned." 

"I  will  go  in,  then,"  said  the  girl,  and  hesitated,  un- 
willing that  a  stranger's  eyes  should  witness  what  she 
knew  was  waiting  her  there. 

"You,  Sir,  will  perhaps  abide  with  me,"  suggested  Mr. 
Maclise  to  Martin,  with  a  quick  understanding  of  her 
hesitation. 

"Oh,  thank  you,"  cried  Moira.  "This  is  Mr.  Martin 
from  Canada,  Mr.  Maclise — my  brother's  great  friend. 
Mr.  Maclise  is  our  schoolmaster  here,"  she  added,  turn- 
ing to  Martin,  "and  we  are  very  proud  of  him."  The 
Highlander's  pale  face  became  the  colour  of  his  brilliant 
hair  as  he  remarked,  "You  are  very  good  indeed,  Miss 
Cameron,  and  I  am  glad  to  make  the  acquaintance  of 


114  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

Mr.  Martin.  It  will  give  me  great  pleasure  to  show  Mr. 
Martin  the  little  falls  at  the  loch's  end,  if  he  cares  to 
step  that  far."  If  Mr.  Martin  was  conscious  of  any 
great  desire  to  view  the  little  falls  at  the  loch's  end,  his 
face  most  successfully  dissembled  any  such  feeling,  but 
to  the  little  falls  he  must  go  as  the  schoolmaster  quietly 
possessed  himself  of  him  and  led  him  away,  while  Miss 
Cameron,  with  never  a  thought  of  either  of  them,  passed 
up  the  broad  path  into  the  kirkyard.  There,  at  the 
tower's  foot,  she  came  upon  her  brother,  prone  upon 
the  little  grassy  mound,  with  arms  outspread,  as  if  to 
hold  it  in  embrace.  At  the  sound  of  his  sister's  tread 
upon  the  gravel,  he  raised  himself  to  his  knees  swiftly, 
and  with  a  fierce  gesture,  as  if  resenting  intrusion. 

"Oh,  it  is  you,  Moira,"  he  said  quietly,  sinking  down 
upon  the  grass.  At  the  sight  of  his  tear-stained,  hag- 
gard face,  the  girl  ran  to  him  with  a  cry,  and  throwing 
herself  down  beside  him  put  her  arms  about  him  with 
inarticulate  sounds  of  pity.  At  length  her  brother 
raised  himself  from  the  ground. 

"Oh,  it  is  terrible  to  leave  it  all,"  he  groaned;  "yet 
I  am  glad  to  leave,  for  it  is  more  terrible  to  stay;  the 
very  Glen  I  cannot  look  at;  and  the  people,  I  cannot 
bear  their  eyes.  Oh,"  he  groaned,  wringing  his  hands, 
"if  she  were  here  she  would  understand,  but  there  is 
nobody." 

"Oh,  Allan,"  cried  his  sister  in  reproach. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know !  I  know !  You  believe  in  me,  Moira, 
but  you  are  just  a  lassie,  and  you  cannot  understand." 

"Yes,  you  know  well  I  believe  in  you,  Allan,  and 
others,  too,  believe  in  you.  There  is  Mr.  Dunn,  and — " 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  her  brother  bitterly,  "he 
wants  to  believe  it." 

"Yes,  and  there  is  Mr.  Martin,"  she  continued,  "and 


FAREWELL    TO    CUAGH    OIK       115 

— Oh,  I  forgot !  here  is  a  letter  Mr.  Martin  brought  you." 

"Martin?" 

"Yes,  your  Martin,  a  strange  little  man ;  your  quarter- 
back, you  know.  He  brought  this,  and  he  says  it  is  good 
news."  But  already  Allan  was  into  his  letter.  As  he 
read  his  face  grew  white,  his  hand  began  to  shake,  his 
eyes  to  stare  as  if  they  would  devour  the  very  paper. 
The  second  time  he  read  the  letter  his  whole  body 
trembled,  and  his  breath  came  in  gasps,  as  if  he  were  in 
a  physical  struggle.  Then  lifting  arms  and  voice 
towards  the  sky,  he  cried  in  a  long,  low  wail,  "Oh  God, 
it  is  good,  it  is  good !" 

With  that  he  laid  himself  down  prone  upon  the  mound 
again,  his  face  in  the  grass,  sobbing  brokenly,  "Oh, 
mother,  mother  dear,  I  have  got  you  once  more;  I  have 
got  you  once  more !" 

His  sister  stood,  her  hands  clasped  upon  her  heart — 
a  manner  she  had — her  tears,  unnoted,  flowing  down 
her  cheeks,  waiting  till  her  brother  should  let  her  into  his 
joy,  as  she  had  waited  for  entrance  into  his  grief.  His 
griefs  and  his  joys  were  hers,  and  though  he  still  held 
her  a  mere  child,  it  was  with  a  woman's  self-forgetting 
love  she  ministered  to  him,  gladly  accepting  whatever 
confidence  he  would  give,  but  content  to  wait  until  he 
should  give  more.  So  she  stood  waiting,  with  her  tears 
flowing  quietly,  and  her  face  alight  with  wonder  and  joy 
for  him.  But  as  her  brother's  sobbing  continued,  this 
terrible  display  of  emotion  amazed  her,  startled  her,  for 
since  their  mother's  death  none  of  them  had  seen  Allan 
weep.  At  length  he  raised  himself  from  the  ground  and 
stood  beside  her. 

"Oh,  Moira,  lassie,  I  never  knew  how  terrible  it  was 
till  now.  I  had  lost  everything,  my  friends,  you,  and," 
he  added  in  a  low  voice,  "my  mother.  This  cursed  thing 


116  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

shut  me  out  from  all;  it  got  between  me  and  all  I  ever 
loved.  I  have  not  for  these  months  been  able  to  see 
her  face  clear,  but  do  you  know,  Moira,"  here  his  voice 
fell  and  the  mystic  light  grew  in  his  eyes,  "I  saw  her 
again  just  now  as  clear  as  clear,  and  I  know  I  have  got 
her  again ;  and  you,  too,  Moira,  darling,"  here  he  gath- 
ered his  sister  to  him,  "and  the  people !  and  the  Glen ! 
Oh!  is  it  not  terrible  what  a  crime  can  do?  How  it 
separates  you  from  your  folk,  and  from  all  the  world, 
for,  mind  you,  I  have  felt  myself  a  criminal ;  but  I  am 
not !  I  am  not !"  His  voice  rose  into  an  exultant  shout, 
"I  am  clear  of  it,  I  am  a  man  again !  Oh,  it  is  good !  it 
is  good !  Here,  read  the  letter,  it  will  prove  to  you." 

"Oh,  what  does  it  matter  at  all,  Allan,"  she  cried, 
still  clinging  to  him,  "as  if  it  made  any  difference  to  me. 
I  always  knew  it." 

Her  brother  lifted  her  face  from  his  breast  and  looked 
into  her  eyes.  "Do  you  tell  me  you  don't  want  to  know 
the  proof  of  it?"  he  asked  in  wonder.  "No,"  she  said 
simply.  "Why  should  I  need  any  proof?  I  always  knew 
it." 

For  a  moment  longer  he  gazed  upon  her,  then  said, 
"Moira,  you  are  a  wonder,  lassie.  No,  you  are  a  lassie 
no  longer,  you  are  a  woman,  and,  do  you  know,  you  are 
like  mother  to  me  now,  and  I  never  saw  it." 

She  smiled  up  at  him  through  her  tears.  "I  should 
like  to  be,"  she  said  softly.  Then,  because  she  was  truly 
Scotch,  she  added,  "for  your  sake,  for  I  love  you  terribly 
much ;  and  I  am  going  to  lose  you." 

A  quiver  passed  through  her  frame,  and  her  arms 
gripped  him  tight.  In  the  self-absorption  in  his  grief 
and  pain  he  had  not  thought  of  hers,  nor  considered  how 
with  his  going  her  whole  life  would  be  changed. 

"I  have  been  a  selfish  brute,"  he  muttered.    "I  have 


FAREWELL    TO    CUAGH    OIR       117 

only  thought  of  my  own  suffering;  but,  listen  Moira,  it 
is  all  past;  thank  God,  it  is  all  past.  This  letter  from 
Mr.  Eae  holds  a  confession  from  Potts  (poor  Potts!  I 
am  glad  that  Eae  let  him  off)  :  it  was  Potts  who  com- 
mitted the  forgery.  Now  I  feel  myself  clean  again ;  you 
can't  know  what  that  is ;  to  be  yourself  again,  and  to  be 
able  to  look  all  men  in  the  face  without  fear  or  shame. 
Come,  we  must  go;  I  must  see  them  all  again.  Let  us 
to  the  burn  first,  and  put  my  face  right." 

A  moment  he  stood  looking  down  upon  his  mother's 
grave.  The  hideous  thing  that  had  put  her  far  from 
him,  and  that  had  blurred  the  clear  vision  of  her  face, 
was  gone.  A  smile  soft  and  tender  as  a  child's  stole 
over  his  face,  and  with  that  smile  he  turned  away.  As 
they  were  coming  back  from  the  burn,  Martin  and  the 
schoolmaster  saw  them  in  the  distance. 

"Bless  me,  man,  will  you  look  at  him?"  said  the  mas- 
ter in  an  awestruck  tone,  clutching  Martin's  arm. 
"What  ever  is  come  to  him?" 

"What's  up,"  cried  Martin.  "By  Jove!  you're  right! 
the  Roderick  Dhu  and  Black  Douglas  business  is  gone, 
sure !" 

"God  bless  my  soul!"  said  Maclise  in  an  undertone. 
"He  is  himself  once  more." 

He  might  well  exclaim,  for  it  was  a  new  Allan  that 
came  striding  up  the  high  road,  with  head  lifted,  and 
with  the  proud  swing  of  a  Highland  chieftain. 

"Hello,  old  man !"  he  shouted,  catching  sight  of  Mar- 
tin and  running  towards  him  with  hands  outstretched, 
"You  are  welcome" — he  grasped  his  hands  and  held 
them  fast — "you  are  welcome  to  this  Glen,  and  to  me 
welcome  as  Heaven  to  a  Hell-bound  soul." 

"Maclise,"  he  cried,  turning  to  the  master,  "this  let- 
ter," waving  it  in  his  hand,  "is  like  a  reprieve  to  a  man 


118  COKPOKAL    CAMEKON 

on  the  scaffold."  Maclise  stood  gazing  in  amazement 
at  him. 

"They  accused  me  of  crime!" 

"Of  crime,  Mr.  Allan?"  Maclise  stiffened  in  haughty 
surprise. 

"Yes,  of  base  crime!" 

"But  this  letter  completely  clears  him,"  cried  Martin 
eagerly. 

Maclise  turned  upon  him  with  swift  scorn,  "There 
was  no  need,  for  anyone  in  this  Glen  whatever."  The 
Highlander's  face  was  pale,  and  in  his  light  blue  eyes 
gleamed  a  fierce  light. 

Martin  flashed  a  look  upon  the  girl  standing  so 
proudly  erect  beside  her  brother,  and  reflecting  in  her 
face  and  eyes  the  sentiments  of  the  schoolmaster. 

"By  Jove!  I  believe  you,"  cried  Martin  with  con- 
viction, "it  is  not  needed  here,  but — but  there  are  others, 
you  know." 

"Others?"  said  the  Highlander  with  fine  scorn,  "and 
what  difference?" 

The  Glen  folk  needed  no  clearing  of  their  chief,  and 
the  rest  of  the  world  mattered  not. 

"But  there  was  myself,"  said  Allan.  "Now  it  is  gone, 
Maclise,  and  I  can  give  my  hand  once  more  without  fear 
or  shame." 

Maclise  took  the  offered  hand  almost  with  reverence, 
and,  removing  his  bonnet  from  his  head,  said  in  a  voice, 
deep  and  vibrating  with  emotion, 

"Neffer  will  a  man  of  the  Glen  count  it  anything  but 
honour  to  take  thiss  hand." 

"Thank  you,  Maclise,"  cried  Allan,  keeping  his  grip 
of  the  master's  hand.  "Now  you  can  tell  the  Glen." 

"You  will  not  be  going  to  leave  us  now?"  said  Maclise 
eagerly. 


FAREWELL    TO    CUAGH    OIE       119 

"Yes,  I  shall  go,  Maclise,  but,"  with,  a  proud  lift  of 
his  head,  "tell  them  I  am  coming  back  again." 

And  with  that  message  Maclise  went  to  the  Glen. 
From  cot  to  cot  and  from  lip  to  lip  the  message  sped, 
that  Mr.  Allan  was  himself  again,  and  that,  though  on 
the  morrow's  morn  he  was  leaving  the  Glen,  he  himself 
had  promised  that  he  wrould  return. 

That  evening,  as  the  gloaming  deepened,  the  people 
of  the  Glen  gathered,  as  was  their  wont,  at  their  cottage 
doors  to  listen  to  old  piper  Macpherson  as  he  marched 
up  and  down  the  highroad.  This  night,  it  was  ob- 
served, he  no  longer  played  that  most  heart-breaking  of 
all  Scottish  laments,  "Lochaber  No  More."  He  had 
passed  up  to  the  no  less  heart-thrilling,  but  less  heart- 
breaking, "Macrimmon's  Lament."  In  a  pause  in  Mac- 
pherson's  wailing  notes  there  floated  down  over  the  Glen 
the  sound  of  the  pipes  up  at  the  big  House. 

"Bless  my  soul!  whisht,  man!"  cried  Betsy  Macpher- 
son to  her  spouse.  "Listen  yonder !"  For  the  first  time 
in  months  they  heard  the  sound  of  Allan's  pipes. 

"It  is  himself,"  whispered  the  women  to  each  other, 
and  waited.  Down  the  long  avenue  of  ragged  firs,  and 
down  the  highroad,  came  young  Mr.  Allan,  in  all  the 
gallant  splendour  of  his  piper's  garb,  and  the  tune  he 
played  was  no  lament,  but  the  blood-stirring  "Gathering 
of  the  Gordons."  As  he  came  opposite  to  Macpherson's 
cottage  he  gave  the  signal  for  the  old  piper,  and  down 
the  highroad  stepped  the  two  of  them  together,  till  they 
passed  beyond  the  farthest  cottage.  Then  back  again 
they  swung,  and  this  time  it  was  to  the  "Cock  of  the 
North,"  that  their  tartans  swayed  and  their  bonnets 
nodded.  Thus,  not  with  wroe  and  lamentation,  but  with 
good  hope  and  gallant  cheer,  young  Mr.  Allan  took  his 
leave  of  the  Glen  Cuagh  Oir. 


120  COEPOEAL   CAMEEON 


CHAPTEE  VIII 

.WILL  HE  COME  BACK? 

IT  was  the  custom  in  Doctor  Dunn's  household  that, 
immediately  after  dinner,  his  youngest  son  would 
spend  half  an  hour  in  the  study  with  his  father. 
It  was  a  time  for  confidences.  During  this  half  hour 
father  and  son  met  as  nearly  as  possible  on  equal  terms, 
discussing,  as  friends  might,  the  events  of  the  day  or 
the  plans  for  the  morrow,  school  work  or  athletics,  the 
latest  book  or  the  newest  joke;  and  sometimes  the  talk 
turned  upon  the  reading  at  evening  prayers.  This  night 
the  story  had  been  one  of  rare  beauty  and  of  absorbing 
interest,  the  story,  viz.,  of  that  idyllic  scene  on  the  shore 
of  Tiberias  where  the  erring  disciple  was  fully  restored 
to  his  place  in  the  ranks  of  the  faithful,  as  he  had  been 
restored,  some  weeks  before,  to  his  place  in  the  confi- 
dence of  his  Master. 

"That  was  a  fine  story,  Eob?"  began  Doctor  Dunn. 

"That  it  was,"  said  Eob  gravely.  "It  was  fine  for 
Peter  to  get  back  again." 

"Just  so,"  replied  his  father.  "You  see,  when  a  man 
once  turns  his  back  on  his  best  Friend,  he  is  never  right 
till  he  gets  back  again." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Eob  gravely.  For  a  time  he  sat 
with  a  shadow  of  sadness  and  anxiety  on  his  young  face. 
"It  is  terrible !"  he  exclaimed. 

"Terrible?"  inquired  the  Doctor.  "Oh,  yes,  you  mean 
Peter's  fall?  Yes,  that  was  a  terrible  thing — to  be  un- 
true to  our  Master  and  faithless  to  our  best  Friend." 

"But  he  did  not  mean  to,  Dad,"  said  Eob  quickly,  as 
if  springing  to  the  fallen  disciple's  defence.  "He  forgot, 


WILL    HE    CO  ME    BACK?  121 

just  for  a  moment,  and  was  awfully  sorry  after- 
wards." 

"Yes,  truly,"  said  his  father,  "and  that  was  the  first 
step  back." 

For  a  few  moments  Kob  remained  silent,  his  face  sad 
and  troubled. 

"Man !  It  must  be  terrible !"  at  length  he  said,  more 
to  himself  than  to  his  father.  The  Doctor  looked  closely 
at  the  little  lad.  The  eager,  sensitive  face,  usually  so 
radiant,  was  now  clouded  and  sad. 

"What  is  it,  Bob?  Is  it  something  you  can  tell  me?" 
asked  his  father  in  a  tone  of  friendly  kindness. 

Kob  moved  closer  to  him.  The  father  waited  in  silence. 
He  knew  better  than  to  force  an  unwilling  confidence. 
At  length  the  lad,  with  an  obvious  effort  at  self-com- 
mand, said: 

"It  is  to-morrow,  Daddy,  that  Cameron — that  Mr. 
Cameron  is  going  away." 

"To-morrow?  So  it  is.  And  you  will  be  very  sorry, 
Rob.  But,  of  course,  he  will  come  back." 

"Oh,  Dad,"  cried  Rob,  coming  quite  close  to  his  father, 
"it  isn't  that !  It  isn't  that !" 

His  father  waited.  He  did  not  understand  his  boy's 
trouble,  and  so  he  wisely  refrained  from  uttering  words 
that  might  hinder  rather  than  help.  At  length,  with  a 
sudden  effort,  Rob  asked  in  a  low,  hurried  voice : 

"Do  you  think,  Dad,  he  has — got — back?" 

"Got  back?"  said  his  father.  "Oh,  I  see.  Why,  my 
boy?  What  do  you  know  of  it?  Did  you  know  there 
was  a  letter  from  a  man  named  Potts,  that  completely 
clears  your  friend  ot  all  crime?" 

"Is  there?"  asked  the  boy  quickly.  "Man!  That  is 
fine!  But  I  always  knew  he  could  not  do  anything 
really  bad — I  mean,  anything  that  the  police  could 


122  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

touch  him  for.  But  it  is  not  that,  Dad.  I  have  heard 
Jack  say  he  used  to  be  different  when  he  came  down 
first,  and  now  sometimes  he — "  The  lad's  voice  fell 
silent.  He  could  not  bring  himself  to  accuse  his  hero 
of  any  evil.  His  father  drew  him  close  to  his  side. 

"You  mean  that  he  has  fallen  into  bad  ways — drink, 
and  things  like  that?" 

The  boy  hung  his  head;  he  was  keenly  ashamed  for 
his  friend.  After  a  few  moments'  silence  he  said : 

"And  he  is  going  away  to  Canada  to-morrow,  and  I 
wonder,  Dad,  if  he  has — got — back?  It  would  be  ter- 
rible—  Oh,  Dad,  all  alone  and  away  from — !" 

The  boy's  voice  sank  to  a  whisper,  and  a  rush  of  tears 
filled  his  eyes. 

"I  see  what  you  mean,  my  boy.  You  mean  it  would 
be  terrible  for  him  to  be  in  that  far  land,  and  away 
from  that  Friend  we  know  and  love  best." 

The  lad  looked  at  his  father  through  his  tears,  and 
nodded  his  head,  and  for  some  moments  there  was 
silence  between  them.  If  the  truth  must  be  told,  Doctor 
Dunn  felt  himself  keenly  rebuked  by  his  little  son's 
words.  Amid  the  multitude  of  his  responsibilities,  the 
responsibility  for  his  sons'  best  friend  he  had  hardly 
realised. 

"I  am  glad  that  you  spoke  of  it,  Rob;  I  am  glad 
that  you  spoke  of  it.  Something  will  be  done.  It  is  not, 
after  all,  in  our  hands.  Still,  we  must  stand  ready  to 
help.  Good-night,  my  boy.  And  remember,  it  is  always 
good  to  hurry  back  to  our  best  Friend,  if  ever  we  get 
away  from  Him." 

The  boy  put  hi«  arms  around  his  father's  neck  and 
kissed  him  good-night ;  then,  kissing  him  again,  he  whis- 
pered :  "Thank  you,  Daddy." 

And  from  the  relief  in  his  tone  the  father  recognised 


WILL   HE    COME    BACK?  123 

that  upon  him  the  lad  had  laid  all  the  burden  of  his 
solicitude  for  his  friend. 

Later  in  the  evening,  when  his  elder  son  came  home, 
the  father  called  him  in,  and  frankly  gave  him  the  sub- 
stance of  the  conversation  of  the  earlier  part  of  the 
evening. 

Jack  laughed  somewhat  uneasily.  "Oh,  Rob  is  an 
awfully  religious  little  beggar;  painfully  so,  I  think, 
sometimes — you  know  what  I  mean,  Sir,"  he  added, 
noticing  the  look  on  his  father's  face. 

"I  am  not  sure  that  I  do,  Jack,"  said  his  father,  "but 
I  want  to  tell  you  that  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  felt 
distinctly  rebuked  at  the  little  chap's  anxiety  for  his 
friend  in  a  matter  of  such  vital  import.  His  is  a  truly 
religious  little  soul,  as  you  say,  but  I  wonder  if  his  type 
is  not  more  nearly  like  the  normal  than  is  ours.  Cer- 
tainly, if  reality,  simplicity,  sincerity  are  the  qualities 
of  true  religious  feeling — and  these,  I  believe,  are  the 
qualities  emphasised  by  the  Master  Himself — then  it 
may  indeed  be  that  the  boy's  type  is  nearer  the  ideal 
than  ours." 

At  this  point  Mrs.  Dunn  entered  the  room. 

"Anything  private?"  she  enquired  with  a  bright  smile 
at  her  husband. 

"Not  at  all!  Come  in!"  said  Doctor  Dunn,  and  he 
proceeded  to  repeat  the  conversation  with  his  younger 
son,  and  his  own  recent  comment  thereupon. 

"I  am  convinced,"  he  added,  "that  there  is  a  pro- 
fundity of  meaning  in  those  words,  'Whosoever  shall 
not  receive  the  kingdom  of  God  as  a  little  child,  he  shall 
not  enter  therein,'  that  we  have  not  yet  fathomed.  I 
suspect  Wordsworth  is  not  far  astray  when  he  suggests 
that  with  the  passing  years  we  grow  away  from  the 
simplicity  of  our  faith  and  the  clearness  of  our  vision. 


124  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

There  is  no  doubt  that  to  Rob,  Jesus  is  as  real  as  I 
am." 

"There  is  no  doubt  of  that,"  said  his  wife  quickly. 
"Not  only  as  real,  but  quite  as  dear;  indeed,  dearer.  I 
shall  never  forget  the  shock  I  received  when  I  heard 
him  one  day,  as  a  wee,  wee  boy,  classifying  the  objects 
of  his  affection.  I  remember  the  ascending  scale  was: 
'I  love  Jack  and  Daddy  just  the  same,  then  mother,  then 
Jesus/  It  was  always  in  the  highest  place,  Jesus;  and 
I  believe  that  the  scale  is  the  same  to-day,  unless  Jack," 
she  added,  with  a  smile  at  her  son,  "has  moved  to  his 
mother's  place." 

"Not  much  fear  of  that,  mother,"  said  Jack,  "but  I 
should  not  be  surprised  if  you  are  quite  right  about  the 
little  chap.  He  is  a  queer  little  beggar !" 

"There  you  are  again,  Jack,"  said  his  father,  "and  it 
is  upon  that  point  I  was  inclined  to  take  issue  with  you 
when  your  mother  entered." 

"I  think  I  shall  leave  you,"  said  the  mother.  "I  am 
rather  tired,  and  so  I  shall  bid  you  good-night." 

"Yes,"  said  the  father,  when  they  had  seated  them- 
selves again,  "the  very  fact  that  to  you,  and  to  me  for 
that  matter,  Rob's  attitude  of  mind  should  seem  pe- 
culiar raises  the  issue.  What  is  the  normal  type  of 
Christian  faith?  Is  it  not  marked  by  the  simplicity 
and  completeness  of  the  child's?" 

"And  yet,  Sir,"  replied  Jack,  "that  simplicity  and 
completeness  is  the  result  of  inexperience.  Surely  the 
ideal  faith  is  not  that  which  ignores  the  facts  and  ex- 
periences of  life?" 

"Not  exactly,"  replied  his  father,  "yet  I  am  not 
sure  but  after  all,  'the  perfect  love  which  casteth  out 
fear*  is  one  which  ignores  the  experiences  of  life,  or, 
rather,  classifies  them  in  a  larger  category.  That  is,  it 


WILL    HE    COME    BACK?  125 

refuses  to  be  disturbed  by  life's  experiences,  because 
among  those  experiences  there  is  a  place  for  the  enlarged 
horizon,  the  clearer  vision.  But  I  am  not  arguing  about 
this  matter;  I  rather  wish  to  make  a  confession  and 
enlist  your  aid.  Frankly,  the  boy's  words  gave  me  an 
uneasy  sense  of  failure  in  my  duty  to  this  young  man; 
or,  perhaps  I  should  say,  my  privilege.  And  really,  it 
is  no  wonder!  Here  is  this  little  chap  actually  carry- 
ing every  day  a  load  of  intense  concern  for  our  friend, 
as  to  whether,  as  he  puts  it  himself,  'he  has  come  back.' 
And,  after  all,  Jack,  I  wonder  if  this  should  not  have 
been  more  upon  our  minds?  The  young  man,  I  take  it, 
since  his  mother's  death  has  little  in  his  home  life  to 
inspire  him  with  religious  faith  and  feeling.  If  she  had 
been  alive,  one  would  not  feel  the  same  responsibility; 
she  was  a  singularly  saintly  woman." 

"You  are  quite  right,  Sir,"  said  Jack  quickly,  "and  I 
suspect  you  rather  mean  that  I  am  the  one  that  should 
feel  condemned." 

"Not  at  all!  Not  at  all,  Jack!  I  am  thinking,  as 
every  man  must,  of  my  own  responsibility,  though, 
doubtless,  you  have  yours  as  well.  Of  course  I  know 
quite  well  you  have  stuck  by  him  splendidly  in  his  fight 
for  a  clean  and  self-controlled  life,  but  one  wonders 
whether  there  is  not  something  more." 

"There  is,  Sir!"  replied  his  son  quickly.  "There  un- 
doubtedly is !  But  though  I  have  no  hesitation  in  speak- 
ing to  men  down  in  the  Settlement  about  these  things, 
you  know,  still,  somehow,  to  a  man  of  your  own  class, 
and  to  a  personal  friend,  one  hesitates.  One  shrinks 
from  what  seems  like  assuming  an  attitude  of  supe- 
riority." 

"I  appreciate  that,"  said  his  father,  "but  yet  one 
wonders  to  what  extent  this  shrinking  is  due  to  a  real 


126  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

sense  of  one's  own  imperfections,  and  to  what  extent 
it  is  due  to  an  unwillingness  to  risk  criticism,  even  from 
ourselves,  in  a  loyal  attempt  to  serve  the  Master  and 
His  cause.  And,  besides  that,  one  wonders  whether 
from  any  cause  one  should  hesitate  to  do  the  truly 
kind  and  Christian  thing  to  one's  friend.  I  mean,  you 
value  your  religion;  or,  to  put  it  personally,  as  Rob 
would,  you  would  esteem  as  your  chief  possession  your 
knowledge  of  the  Christ,  as  Friend  and  Saviour.  Do 
not  loyalty  to  Him  and  friendship  require  that  you 
share  that  possession  with  your  dearest  friend?" 

"I  know  what  you  mean,  Sir,"  said  Jack  earnestly. 
"I  shall  think  it  over.  But  don't  you  think  a  word  from 
you,  Sir — " 

His  father  looked  at  his  son  with  a  curious  smile. 

"Oh,  I  know  what  you  are  thinking,"  said  his  son, 
"but  I  assure  you  it  is  not  quite  a  case  of  funk." 

"Do  you  know,  Jack,"  said  his  father  earnestly,  "we 
make  our  religion  far  too  unreal ;  a  thing  either  of  forms 
remote  from  life,  or  a  thing  of  individualistic  emotion 
divorced  from  responsibility.  One  thing  history  reveals, 
that  the  early  propagandum  for  the  faith  was  entirely 
unprofessional.  It  was  from  friend  to  friend,  from 
man  to  man.  It  was  horizontal  rather  than  perpen- 
dicular." 

"Well,  I  shall  think  it  over,"  said  Jack. 

"Do  you  know,"  said  his  father,  "that  I  have  the  feel- 
ing of  having  accepted  from  Rob  responsibility  for  our 
utmost  endeavour  to  bring  it  about  that,  as  Rob  puts  it, 
'somehow  he  shall  get  back'?" 

It  was  full  twenty  minutes  before  train  time  when 
Rob,  torn  with  anxiety  lest  they  should  be  late,  marched 
his  brother  on  to  the  railway  platform  to  wait  for  the 
Camerons,  who  were  to  arrive  from  the  North.  Up  and 


WILL    HE    COME    BACK?  127 

down  they  paraded,  Dunn  turning  over  in  his  mind  the 
conversation  of  the  night  before,  Hob  breaking  away 
every  three  minutes  to  consult  the  clock  and  the  booking 
clerk  at  the  wicket. 

"Will  he  come  to  us  this  afternoon,  Jack,  do  you 
think?"  enquired  the  boy. 

"Don't  know !  He  turned  down  a  football  lunch !  He 
has  his  sister  and  his  father  with  him." 

"His  sister  could  come  with  him !"  argued  the  boy. 

"What  about  his  father?" 

Eob  had  been  close  enough  to  events  to  know  that  the 
Captain  constituted  something  of  a  difficulty  in  the 
situation. 

"Well,  won't  he  have  business  to  attend  to?" 

His  brother  laughed.  "Good  idea,  Kob,  let  us  hope 
so!  At  any  rate  we  will  do  our  best  to  get  Cameron 
and  his  sister  to  come  to  us.  We  want  them,  don't 
we?" 

"We  do  that !"  said  the  boy  fervently ;  "only  Pm  sure 
something  will  happen!  There,"  he  exclaimed  a  mo- 
ment later,  in  a  tone  of  disappointment  and  disgust,  "I 
just  knew  it!  There  is  Miss  Brodie  and  some  one  else; 
they  will  get  after  him,  I  know !" 

"So  it  is,"  said  Dunn,  with  a  not  altogether  successful 
attempt  at  surprise. 

"Aw !  you  knew !"  said  Hob  reproachfully. 

"Well!  I  kind  of  thought  she  might  turn  up!"  said 
his  brother,  with  an  air  of  a  convicted  criminal.  "You 
know  she  is  quite  a  friend  of  Cameron's.  But  what  is 
Sir  Archibald  here  for?" 

"They  will  just  get  him,  I  know,"  said  Rob  gloomily, 
as  he  followed  his  brother  to  meet  Miss  Brodie  and  her 
uncle. 

"We're  here!"  cried  that  young  lady,  "to  join  in  the 


128  CORPORAL   CAMERON 

demonstration  to  the  hero !  And,  my  uncle  being  some- 
what conscience-stricken  over  his  tardy  and  unwilling 
acceptance  of  our  superior  judgment  in  the  recent 
famous  case,  has  come  to  make  such  reparation  as  he 
can." 

"What  a  piece  of  impertinence!  Don't  listen  to  her, 
Sir!"  cried  Sir  Archibald,  greeting  Dunn  warmly  and 
with  the  respect  due  an  International  captain.  "The 
truth  is  I  have  a  letter  here  for  him  to  a  business  friend 
in  Montreal,  which  may  be  of  service.  Of  course,  I  may 
say  to  you  that  I  am  more  than  delighted  that  this  letter 
of  Potts  has  quite  cleared  the  young  man,  and  that  he 
goes  to  the  new  country  with  reputation  unstained.  I 
am  greatly  delighted !  greatly  delighted !  and  I  wish  the 
opportunity  to  say  so." 

"Indeed,  we  are  all  delighted,"  replied  Dunn  cordially, 
"though,  of  course,  I  never  could  bring  myself  to  believe 
him  guilty  of  crime." 

"Well,  on  the  strength  of  the  judgment  of  yourself 
and,  I  must  confess,  of  this  young  person  here,  I  made 
my  decision." 

"Well,"  cried  Miss  Brodie,  "I  gave  you  my  opinion 
because  it  was  my  opinion,  but  I  confess  at  times  I  had 
my  own  doubts — " 

Here  she  paused  abruptly,  arrested  by  the  look  on 
young  Rob's  face;  it  was  a  look  of  surprise,  grief,  and 
horror. 

"That  is  to  say,"  continued  Miss  Brodie  hastily,  an- 
swering the  look,  and  recognising  that  her  high  place 
in  Rob's  regard  was  in  peril,  "the  whole  thing  was  a 
mystery — was  impossible  to  solve—I  mean,"  she  con- 
tinued, stumbling  along,  "his  own  attitude  was  so  very 
uncertain  and  so  unsatisfactory — if  he  had  only  been 
able  to  say  clearly  'I  am  not  guilty'  it  would  have  been 


WILL    HE    COME    BACK?  129 

different — I  mean — of  course,  I  don't  believe  him  guilty. 
Don't  look  at  me  like  that,  Kob !  I  won't  have  it !  But 
was  it  not  clever  of  that  dear  Mr.  Rae  to  extract  that 
letter  from  the  wretched  Potts?" 

"There's  the  train !"  cried  Dunn.  "Here,  Kob,  you  stay 
here  with  me !  Where  has  the  young  rascal  gone !" 

"Look!  Oh,  look!"  cried  Miss  Brodie,  clutching  at 
Dunn's  arm,  her  eyes  wide  with  terror.  There  before 
their  horrified  eyes  was  young  Kob,  hanging  on  to  the 
window,  out  of  which  his  friend  Cameron  was  leaning, 
and  racing  madly  with  the  swiftly  moving  train,  in 
momentary  danger  of  being  dragged  under  its  wheels. 
With  a  cry,  Dunn  rushed  forward. 

"Merciful  heavens!"  cried  Miss  Brodie.  "Oh!  he  is 
gone !" 

A  porter,  standing  with  his  back  towards  the  racing 
boy,  had  knocked  his  feet  from  under  him.  But  as  he 
fell,  a  strong  hand  grabbed  him,  and  dragged  him  to 
safety  through  the  window. 

Pale  and  shaking,  the  three  friends  waited  for  the  car 
door  to  be  opened,  and  as  Rob  issued  in  triumphant 
possession  of  his  friend,  Miss  Brodie  rushed  at  him  and, 
seizing  Jrim  in  her  strong  grasp,  cried : 

"You  heartless  young  rascal!  You  nearly  killed  me 
— not  to  speak  of  yourself!  Here,"  she  continued, 
throwing  her  arms  about  him,  and  giving  him  a  loud 
smack,  "take  that  for  your  punishment !  Do  you  hear, 
you  nearly  killed  me!  I  had  a  vision  of  your  mangled 
form  ground  up  between  the  wheels  and  the  platform. 
Hold  on,  you  can't  get  away  from  me!  I  have  a  mind 
to  give  you  another !" 

"Oh,  Miss  Brodie,  please,"  pleaded  Cameron,  coming 
forward  to  Kob's  rescue,  "I  assure  you  I  was  partly  to 
blame ;  it  is  only  fair  I  should  share  his  punishment." 


130  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

"Indeed,"  cried  Miss  Brodie,  the  blood  coming  back 
into  her  cheeks  that  had  been  white  enough  a  moment 
before,  "if  it  were  not  for  your  size,  and  your — looks,  I 
should  treat  you  exactly  the  same,  though  not  with  the 
same  intent,  as  our  friend  Mr.  Rae  would  say.  You  did 
that  splendidly  I" 

"Alas!  for  my  size,"  groaned  Cameron — he  was  in 
great  spirits — "and  alas !  for  my  ugly  phiz !" 

"Who  said  'ugly'?"  replied  Miss  Brodie.  "But  I 
won't  rise  to  your  bait.  May  I  introduce  you  to  my 
uncle,  Sir  Archibald  Brodie,  who  has  a  little  business 
with  you?" 

"Ah!  Mr.  Cameron,"  said  that  gentleman,  "that  was 
extremely  well  done.  Indeed,  I  can  hardly  get  back  my 
nerve — might  have  been  an  ugly  accident.  By  the  way, 
Sir,"  taking  Cameron  aside,  "just  a  moment.  You  are 
on  your  way  to  Canada?  I  have  a  letter  which  I  thought 
might  be  of  service  to  you.  It  is  to  a  business  friend  of 
mine,  a  banker,  in  Montreal,  Mr.  James  Ritchie.  You 
will  find  him  a  good  man  to  know,  and  I  fancy  glad  to 
serve  any — ah — friend  of  mine." 

On  hearing  Sir  Archibald's  name,  Cameron's  manner 
became  distinctly  haughty,  and  he  was  on  the  point  of 
declining  the  letter,  when  Sir  Archibald,  who  was  quick 
to  observe  his  manner,  took  him  by  the  arm  and  led  him 
somewhat  further  away. 

"Now,  Sir,  there  is  a  little  matter  I  wish  to  speak  of, 
if  you  will  permit.  Indeed,  I  came  specially  to  say  how 
delighted  I  am  that  the — ah — recent  little  unpleasant- 
ness has  been  removed.  Of  course  you  understand  my 
responsibility  to  the  Bank  rendered  a  certain  course  of 
action  imperative,  however  repugnant.  But,  believe 
me,  I  am  truly  delighted  to  find  that  my  decision  to 
withdraw  the — ah — action  has  been  entirely  justified  by 


WILL    HE    CO  ME    BACK?  131 

events.  Delighted,  Sir!  Delighted!  And  much  more 
since  I  have  seen  you." 

Before  the  overflowing  kindliness  of  Sir  Archibald's 
voice  and  manner,  Cameron's  hauteur  vanished  like 
morning  mist  before  the  rising  sun. 

"I  thank  you,  Sir  Archibald,"  he  said,  with  dignity, 
"not  only  for  this  letter,  but  especially  for  your  good 
opinion." 

"Very  good !  Very  good !  The  letter  will,  I  hope,  be 
useful,"  replied  Sir  Archibald,  "and  as  for  my  opinion, 
I  am  glad  to  find  not  only  that  it  is  well  founded,  but 
that  it  appears  to  be  shared  by  most  of  this  company 
here.  Now  we  must  get  back  to  your  party.  But  let  me 
say  again,  I  am  truly  glad  to  have  come  to  know  you." 


BOOK  TWO 


HO    FOR    THE    OPEN!  135 


CHAPTER  I 

HO  FOR  THE  OPEN! 

MR.  JAMES  RITCHIE,  manager  of  the  Bank  of 
Montreal,  glanced  from  the  letter  in  his  hand 
to  the  young  man  who  had  just  given  it  to  him. 
"Ah !  you  have  just  arrived  from  the  old  land,"  he  said, 
a  smile  of  genial  welcome  illuminating  his  handsome 
face.  "I  am  pleased  to  hear  from  my  old  friend,  Sir 
Archibald  Brodie,  and  pleased  to  welcome  any  friend  of 
his  to  Canada." 

So  saying,  with  fine  old-time  courtesy,  the  banker  rose 
to  his  splendid  height  of  six  feet  two,  and  shook  his 
visitor  warmly  by  the  hand. 

"Your  name  is — ?" 

"Cameron,  Sir,"  said  the  young  man. 

"Yes,  I  see!  Mr.  Allan  Cameron — urn,  um,"  with  his 
eyes  on  the  letter.  "Old  and  distinguished  family — 
exactly  so!  Now,  then,  Mr.  Cameron,  I  hope  we  shall 
be  able  to  do  something  for  you,  both  for  the  sake  of  my 
old  friend,  Sir  Archibald,  and,  indeed,  for  your  own 
sake,"  said  the  banker,  with  a  glance  of  approval  at 
Cameron's  upright  form. 

"Sit  down,  Sir!  Sit  down!  Now,  business  first  is 
my  motto.  What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"Well,  first  of  all,"  said  Cameron  with  a  laugh,  "I 
wish  to  make  a  deposit.  I  have  a  draft  of  one  hundred 
pounds  here  which  I  should  like  to  place  in  your  care." 

"Very  well,  Sir,"  said  the  banker,  touching  a  button, 
"my  young  man  will  attend  to  that." 

"Now,  then,"  when  the  business  had  been  transacted, 
"what  are  your  plans,  Mr.  Cameron?  Thirty-five  years 
ago  I  came  to  Montreal  a  young  man,  from  Scotland, 


136 


like  yourself,  and  it  was  a  lonely  day  for  me  when  I 
reached  this  city,  the  loneliest  in  my  life,  and  so  my 
heart  warms  to  the  stranger  from  the  old  land.  Yes," 
continued  Mr.  Eitchie,  in  a  reminiscent  tone,  "I  remem- 
ber well !  I  hired  as  errand  boy  and  general  factotum 
to  a  small  grocer  down  near  the  market.  Montreal  was 
a  small  city  then,  with  wretched  streets — they're  bad 
enough  yet — and  poor  buildings;  everything  was  slow 
and  backward;  there  have  been  mighty  changes  since. 
But  here  we  are!  Now,  what  are  your  plans?" 

"I  am  afraid  they  are  of  the  vaguest  kind,"  said  Cam- 
eron. "I  want  something  to  do." 

"What  sort  of  thing?  I  mean,  what  has  been  the  line 
of  your  training?" 

"I  am  afraid  my  training  has  been  defective.  I  have 
passed  through  Edinburgh  Academy,  also  the  Univer- 
sity, with  the  exception  of  my  last  year.  But  I  am 
willing  to  take  anything." 

"Ah!"  said  the  banker  thoughtfully.  "No  office 
training,  eh?" 

"No,  Sir.  That  is,  if  you  except  a  brief  period  of  three 
or  four  months  in  the  law  office  of  our  family  solicitor." 

"Law,  eh? — I  have  it!  Denman's  your  man!  I  shall 
give  you  a  letter  to  Mr.  Denman — a  lawyer  friend  of 
mine.  I  shall  see  him  personally  to-day,  and  if  you  call 
to-morrow  at  ten  I  hope  to  have  news  for  you.  Mean- 
time, I  shall  be  pleased  to  have  you  lunch  with  me  to-day 
at  the  club.  One  o'clock  is  the  hour.  If  you  would 
kindly  call  at  the  bank,  we  shall  go  down  together." 

Cameron  expressed  his  gratitude. 

"By  the  way !"  said  Mr.  Kitchie,  "where  have  you  put 
up?" 

"At  the  Eoyal,"  said  Cameron. 

"Ah !    That  will  do  for  the  present,"  said  Mr.  Eitchie. 


HO    FOR    THE    OPEN!  137 

I  am  sorry  our  circumstances  do  not  permit  of  my 
inviting  you  to  our  home.  The  truth  is,  Mrs.  Kitchie  is 
at  present  out  of  the  city.  But  we  shall  find  some  suit- 
able lodging  for  you.  The  Eoyal  is  far  too  expensive  a 
place  for  a  young  man  with  his  fortune  to  make." 

Cameron  spent  the  day  making  the  acquaintance  of 
the  beautiful,  quaint,  if  somewhat  squalid,  old  city  of 
Montreal;  and  next  morning,  with  a  letter  of  introduc- 
tion from  Mr.  Ritchie,  presented  himself  at  Mr.  Den- 
man's  office.  Mr.  Denman  was  a  man  in  young  middle 
life,  athletic  of  frame,  keen  of  eye,  and  energetic  of 
manner;  his  voice  was  loud  and  sharp.  He  welcomed 
Cameron  with  brisk  heartiness,  and  immediately  pro- 
ceeded to  business. 

"Let  me  see,"  he  began,  "what  is  your  idea?  What 
kind  of  a  job  are  you  after?" 

"Indeed,"  replied  Cameron,  "that  is  just  what  I  hardly 
know." 

"Well,  what  has  been  your  experience?  You  are  a 
University  man,  I  believe?  But  have  you  had  any  prac- 
tical training  ?  Do  you  know  office  work?" 

"No,  I've  had  little  training  for  an  office.  I  was  in 
a  law  office  for  part  of  a  year." 

"Ah!  Familiar  with  bookkeeping,  or  accounting?  I 
suppose  you  can't  run  one  of  these  typewriting  ma- 
chines?" 

In  regard  to  each  of  these  lines  of  effort  Cameron 
was  forced  to  confess  ignorance. 

"I  say !"  cried  Mr.  Denman,  "those  old  country  people 
seriously  annoy  me  with  their  inadequate  system  of 
education !" 

"I  am  afraid,"  replied  Cameron,  "the  fault  is  more 
mine  than  the  system's." 

"Don't  know  about  that!    Don't  know  about  that!" 


138  COEPOEAL CAM EBON 

replied  Mr.  Denman  quickly;  "I  have  had  scores  of 
young  men,  fine  young  men,  too,  come  to  me;  public 
school  men,  university  men,  but  quite  unfit  for  any  prac- 
tical line  of  work." 

Mr.  Denman  considered  for  some  moments.  "Let  us 
see.  You  have  done  some  work  in  a  law  office.  Now," 
Mr.  Denman  spoke  with  some  hesitation;  "I  have  a 
place  in  my  own  office  here — not  much  in  it  for  the 
present,  but — " 

"To  tell  the  truth,"  interrupted  Cameron,  "I  did  not 
make  much  of  the  law ;  in  fact,  I  do  not  think  I  am  suited 
for  office  work.  I  would  prefer  something  in  the  open. 
I  had  thought  of  the  land." 

"Farming,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Denman.  "Ah! — you 
would,  I  suppose,  be  able  to  invest  something?" 

"No,"  said  Cameron,  "nothing." 

Denman  shook  his  head.  "Nothing  in  it !  You  would 
not  earn  enough  to  buy  a  farm  about  here  in  fifteen 
years." 

"But  I  understood,"  replied  Cameron,  "that  further 
west  was  cheaper  land." 

"Oh !  In  the  far  west,  yes !  But  it  is  a  God-forsaken 
country!  I  don't  know  much  about  it,  I  confess.  I 
know  they  are  booming  town  lots  all  over  the  land.  I 
believe  they  have  gone  quite  mad  in  the  business,  but 
from  what  I  hear,  the  main  work  in  the  west  just  now 
is  jaw  work;  the  only  thing  they  raise  is  corner 
lots." 

On  Cameron's  face  there  fell  the  gloom  of  discourage- 
ment. One  of  his  fondest  dreams  was  being  dispelled — 
his  vision  of  himself  as  a  wealthy  rancher,  ranging  over 
square  miles  of  his  estate  upon  a  "bucking  broncho," 
garbed  in  the  picturesque  cowboy  dress,  began  to 
fade. 


HO    FOR    THE    OPEN!  139 

"But  there  is  ranching,  I  believe?"  he  ventured. 

"Ranching?  Oh  yes!  There  is,  up  near  the  Rockies, 
but  that  is  out  of  civilization ;  out  of  reach  of  everything 
and  everybody." 

"That  is  what  I  want,  Sir!"  exclaimed  Cameron,  his 
face  once  more  aglow  with  eager  hope.  "I  want  to  get 
away  into  the  open." 

Mr.  Denman  did  not,  or  could  not,  recognise  this  as 
the  instinctive  cry  of  the  primitive  man  for  a  closer  fel- 
lowship with  Mother  Nature.  He  was  keenly  practical, 
and  impatient  with  everything  that  appeared  to  him  to 
be  purely  visionary  and  unbusiness-like. 

"But,  my  dear  fellow,"  he  said,  "a  ranch  means  cattle 
and  horses;  and  cattle  and  horses  means  money,  unless 
of  course,  you  mean  to  be  simply  a  cowboy — cowpuncher, 
I  believe,  is  the  correct  term — but  there  is  nothing  in 
that;  no  future,  I  mean.  It  is  all  very  well  for  a  little 
fun,  if  you  have  a  bank  account  to  stand  it,  although 
some  fellows  stand  it  on  someone's  else  bank  account — 
not  much  to  their  credit,  however.  There  is  a  young 
friend  of  mine  out  there  at  present,  but  from  what  I 
can  gather  his  home  correspondence  is  mainly  confined 
to  appeals  for  remittances  from  his  governor,  and  his 
chief  occupation  spending  these  remittances  as  speedily 
as  possible.  All  very  well,  as  I  have  said,  for  fun,  if 
you  can  pay  the  shot.  But  to  play  the  role  of  gentleman 
cowboy,  while  somebody  else  pays  for  it,  is  the  sort  of 
thing  I  despise." 

"And  so  do  I,  Sir!"  said  Cameron.  "There  will  be 
no  remittance  in  my  case." 

Denman  glanced  at  the  firm,  closed  lips  and  the 
stiffening  figure. 

"That  is  the  talk!"  he  exclaimed.  "No,  there  is  no 
chance  in  ranching  unless  you  have  capital." 


140  CORPORAL    CAM  EBON 

"As  far  as  I  can  see,"  replied  Cameron  gloomily, 
"everything  seems  closed  up  except  to  the  capitalist, 
and  yet  from  what  I  heard  at  home  situations  were  open 
on  every  hand  in  this  country." 

"Come  here!"  cried  Denman,  drawing  Cameron  to 
the  office  window.  "See  those  doors !"  pointing  to  a  long 
line  of  shops.  "Every  last  one  is  opened  to  a  man  who 
knows  his  business.  See  those  smokestacks!  Every 
last  wheel  in  those  factories  is  howling  for  a  man  who 
is  on  to  his  job.  But  don't  look  blue,  there  is  a  place  for 
you,  too ;  the  thing  is  to  find  it." 

"What  are  those  long  buildings?"  inquired  Cameron, 
pointing  towards  the  water  front. 

"Those  are  railroad  sheds ;  or,  rather,  Transportation 
Company's  sheds;  they  are  practically  the  same  thing. 
I  say !  What  is  the  matter  with  trying  the  Transporta- 
tion Company?  I  know  the  manager  well.  The  very 
thing !  Try  the  Transportation  Company !" 

"How  should  I  go  about  it?"  said  Cameron.  "I  mean 
to  say  just  what  position  should  I  apply  for?" 

"Position!"  shouted  Denman.  "Why,  general  man- 
ager would  be  good !" 

Then,  noting  the  flush  in  Cameron's  face,  he  added 
quickly,  "Pardon  me!  The  thing  is  to  get  your  foot  in 
somehow,  and  then  wire  in  till  you  are  general  manager, 
by  Jove !  It  can  be  done !  Fleming  has  done  it !  Went 
in  as  messenger  boy,  but — "  Denman  paused.  There 
flashed  through  his  mind  the  story  of  Fleming's  career; 
a  vision  of  the  half -starved  ragged  waif  who  started  as 
messenger  boy  in  the  company's  offices,  and  who,  by  dint 
of  invincible  determination  and  resolute  self-denial, 
fought  his  way  step  by  step  to  his  present  position  of 
control.  In  contrast,  he  looked  at  the  young  man,  born 
and  bred  in  circles  where  work  is  regarded  as  a  calamity, 


HO    FOR    THE    OPEN!  141 

and  service  wears  the  badge  of  social  disfranchisement. 
Fleming  had  done  it  under  compulsion  of  the  inex- 
orable mistress  "Necessity."  But  what  of  this  young 
man? 

"Will  we  try?"  he  said  at  length.  "I  shall  give  you 
a  letter  to  Mr.  Fleming." 

He  sat  down  to  his  desk  and  wrote  vigourously. 

"Take  this,  and  see  what  happens." 

Cameron  took  the  letter,  and,  glancing  at  the  address, 
read,  Wm.  Fleming,  Esquire,  General  Manager,  Metro- 
politan Transportation  &  Cartage  Company. 

"Is  this  a  railroad?"  asked  Cameron. 

"No,  but  next  thing  to  it.  The  companies  are  prac- 
tically one.  The  transition  from  one  to  the  other  is  easy 
enough.  Let  me  know  how  you  get  on.  Good-by! 
And — I  gay !"  cried  Mr.  Denman,  calling  Cameron  back 
again  from  the  door,  "see  Mr.  Fleming  himself.  Remem- 
ber that !  And  remember,"  he  added,  with  a  smile,  "the 
position  of  manager  is  not  vacant  just  yet,  but  it  will 
be.  I  give  you  my  word  for  it  when  you  are  ready  to 
take  it.  Good-by !  Buck  up !  Take  what  he  offers  you ! 
Get  your  teeth  in,  and  never  let  go !" 

"By  George!"  said  Denman  to  himself  as  the  door 
closed  on  Cameron,  "these  chaps  are  the  limit.  He's 
got  lots  of  stuff  in  him,  but  he  has  been  rendered  help- 
less by  their  fool  system — God  save  us  from  it!  That 
chap  has  had  things  done  for  him  ever  since  he  was  first 
bathed;  they  have  washed  'em,  dressed  'em,  fed  'em, 
schooled  'em,  found  'em  positions,  stuck  'em  in,  and 
watched  that  they  didn't  fall  out.  And  yet,  by  George !" 
he  added,  after  a  pause,  "they  are  running  the  world 
to-day — that  is,  some  of  them."  Facing  which  some- 
what puzzling  phenomenon,  Denman  plunged  into  his 
work  again. 


142  CORPORAL   CAMERON 

Meantime  Cameron  was  making  his  way  towards  the 
offices  of  the  Metropolitan  Transportation  &  Cartage 
Company,  oppressed  with  an  unacknowledged  but  none 
the  less  real  sense  of  unfi tness,  and  haunted  by  a  depress- 
ing sense  of  the  deficiency  of  his  own  training,  and  of 
the  training  afforded  the  young  men  of  his  class  at  home. 
As  he  started  along  he  battled  with  his  depression. 
True  enough,  he  had  no  skill  in  the  various  accomplish- 
ments that  Mr.  Denman  seemed  to  consider  essential; 
he  had  no  experience  in  business,  he  was  not  fit  for  office 
work — office  work  he  loathed ;  but  surely  there  was  some 
position  where  his  talents  would  bring  him  recognition 
and  fortune  at  last.  After  all,  Mr.  Denman  was  only  a 
Colonial,  and  with  a  Colonial's  somewhat  narrow  view 
of  life.  Who  was  he  to  criticise  the  system  of  training 
that  for  generations  had  been  in  vogue  at  home?  Had 
not  Wellington  said  "that  England's  battles  were  first 
won  on  the  football  fields  of  Eton  and  Rugby,"  or  some- 
thing like  that?  Of  course,  the  training  that  might  fit 
for  a  distinguished  career  in  the  British  army  might 
not  necessarily  insure  success  on  the  battle  fields  of  in- 
dustry and  commerce.  Yet  surely,  an  International 
player  should  be  able  to  get  somewhere ! 
,  At  this  point  in  his  cogitations  Cameron  was  arrested 
by  a  memory  that  stabbed  him  like  a  knife-thrust;  the 
awful  moment  when  upon  the  Inverleith  grounds,  in 
the  face  of  the  Welsh  forward-line,  he  had  faltered  and 
lost  the  International.  Should  he  ever  be  able  to  forget 
the  agony  of  that  moment  and  of  the  day  that  followed? 
And  yet,  he  need  not  have  failed.  He  knew  he  could  play 
his  position  with  any  man  in  Scotland;  he  had  failed 
because  he  was  not  fit.  He  set  his  teeth  hard.  He  would 
show  these  bally  Colonials!  He  would  make  good! 
And  with  his  head  high,  he  walked  into  the  somewhat 


HO    FOR    THE    OPEN!  143 

dingy  offices  of  the  Metropolitan  Transportation  &  Cart- 
age Company,  of  which  William  Fleming,  Esquire,  was 
manager. 

Opening  the  door,  Cameron  found  himself  confronted 
by  a  short  counter  that  blocked  the  way  for  the  general 
public  into  the  long  room,  filled  with  desks  and  chairs 
and  clicking  typewriting  machines.  Cameron  had  never 
seen  so  many  of  these  machines  during  the  whole  period 
of  his  life.  The  typewriter  began  to  assume  an  alto- 
gether new  importance  in  his  mind.  Hitherto  it  had 
appeared  to  him  more  or  less  of  a  Yankee  fad,  unworthy 
of  the  attention  of  an  able-bodied  man  of  average  intelli- 
gence. In  Edinburgh  a  "writing  machine"  was  still 
something  of  a  new-fangled  luxury,  to  be  apologised 
for.  Mr.  Eae  would  allow  no  such  finicky  instrument  in 
his  office.  Here,  howrever,  there  were  a  dozen,  more  or 
less,  manipulated  for  the  most  part  by  young  ladies,  and 
some  of  them  actually  by  men ;  on  every  side  they  clicked 
and  banged.  It  may  have  been  the  clicking  and  banging 
of  these  machines  that  gave  to  Cameron  the  sense  of  rush 
and  hurry  so  different  from  the  calm  quiet  and  digni- 
fied repose  of  the  only  office  he  had  ever  known.  For 
some  moments  he  stood  at  the  counter,  waiting  atten- 
tion from  one  of  the  many  clerks  sitting  before  him, 
but  though  one  and  another  occasionally  glanced  in  his 
direction,  his  presence  seemed  to  awaken  not  even  a 
passing  curiosity  in  their  minds,  much  less  to  suggest 
the  propriety  of  their  inquiring  his  business. 

As  the  moments  passed  Cameron  became  conscious  of 
a  feeling  of  affront.  How  differently  a  gentleman  was 
treated  by  the  clerks  in  the  office  of  Messrs.  Rae  &  Mac- 
pherson,  where  prompt  attention  and  deferential  cour- 
tesy in  a  clerk  were  as  essential  as  a  suit  of  clothes. 
Gradually  Cameron's  head  went  up,  and  with  it  his 


144  CORPORAL   CAMERON 

choler.  At  length,  in  his  haughtiest  tone,  he  hailed  a 
passing  youth: 

"I  say,  boy,  is  this  Mr.  Fleming's  office?" 

The  clicking  and  banging  of  the  typewriters,  and  the 
hum  of  voices  ceased.  Everywhere  heads  were  raised 
and  eyes  turned  curiously  upon  the  haughty  stranger. 

"Eh?"  No  letters  can  represent  the  nasal  intonation 
of  this  syllabic  inquiry,  and  no  words  the  supreme  indif- 
ference of  the  boy's  tone. 

"Is  Mr.  Fleming  in?  I  wish  to  see  him!"  Cameron's 
voice  was  loud  and  imperious. 

"Say,  boys,"  said  a  lanky  youth,  with  a  long,  cadaver- 
ous countenance  and  sallow,  unhealthy  complexion, 
illumined,  however,  and  redeemed  to  a  certain  extent 
by  black  eyes  of  extraordinary  brilliance,  "it  is  the 
Prince  of  Wales !"  The  drawling,  awe-struck  tones,  in 
the  silence  that  had  fallen,  were  audible  to  all  in  the 
immediate  neighbourhood. 

The  titter  that  swept  over  the  listeners  brought  the 
hot  blood  to  Cameron's  face.  A  deliberate  insult  a 
Highlander  takes  with  calm.  He  is  prepared  to  deal  with 
it  in  a  manner  affording  him  entire  satisfaction.  Ridi- 
cule rouses  him  to  fury,  for,  while  it  touches  his  pride, 
it  leaves  him  no  opportunity  of  vengeance. 

"Can  you  tell  me  if  Mr.  Fleming  is  in?"  he  enquired 
again  of  the  boy  that  stood  scanning  him  with  calm 
indifference.  The  rage  that  possessed  him  so  vibrated 
in  his  tone  that  the  lanky  lad  drawled  again  in  a  warn- 
ing voice : 

"Slide,  Jimmy,  slide!" 

Jimmy  "slid,"  but  towards  the  counter. 

"Want  to  see  him?"  he  enquired  in  a  tone  of  brisk  im- 
pertinence, as  if  suddenly  roused  from  a  reverie. 

"I  have  a  letter  for  him." 


HO    FOR    THE    OPEN!  145 

"All  right!  Hand  it  over,"  said  Jimmy,  fully  con- 
scious that  he  was  the  hero  of  more  than  usual  interest. 

Cameron  hesitated,  then  passed  his  letter  over  to 
Jimmy,  who,  reading  the  address  with  deliberate  care, 
winked  at  the  lanky  boy,  and  with  a  jaunty  step  made 
towards  a  door  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room.  As  he 
passed  a  desk  that  stood  nearest  the  door,  a  man  who 
during  the  last  few  minutes  had  remained  with  his  head 
down,  apparently  so  immersed  in  the  papers  before  him 
as  to  be  quite  unconscious  of  his  surroundings,  suddenly 
called  out,  "Here,  boy !" 

Jimmy  instantly  assumed  an  air  of  respectful  atten- 
tion. 

"A  letter  for  Mr.  Fleming,"  he  said. 

"Here !"  replied  the  man,  stretching  out  his  hand. 

He  hurriedly  glanced  through  the  letter. 

"Tell  him  there  is  no  vacancy  at  present,"  he  said 
shortly. 

The  boy  came  back  to  Cameron  with  cheerful  polite- 
ness. The  "old  man's"  eye  was  upon  him., 

"There  is  no  vacancy  at  present,"  he  said  briefly,  and 
turned  away  as  if  his  attention  were  immediately  de- 
manded elsewhere  by  pressing  business  of  the  Metro- 
politan Transportation  &  Cartage  Company. 

For  answer,  Cameron  threw  back  the  leaf  of  the  coun- 
ter that  barred  his  way,  and  started  up  the  long  room, 
past  the  staring  clerks,  to  the  desk  next  the  door. 

"I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Fleming,  Sir,"  he  said,  his  voice 
trembling  slightly,  his  face  pale,  his  blue-gray  eyes 
ablaze. 

The  man  at  the  desk  looked  up  from  his  work. 

"I  have  just  informed  you  there  is  no  vacancy  at 
present,"  he  said  testily,  and  turned  to  his  papers  again, 
as  if  dismissing  the  incident. 


146  CORPORAL    CAM  EBON 

"Will  you  kindly  tell  me  if  Mr.  Fleming  is  in?"  said 
Cameron  in  a  voice  that  had  grown  quite  steady;  "I 
wish  to  see  him  personally." 

"Mr.  Fleming  cannot  see  you,  I  tell  you!"  almost 
shouted  the  man,  rising  from  his  desk  and  revealing 
himself  a  short,  pudgy  figure,  with  flabby  face  and  shin- 
ing bald  head.  "Can't  you  understand  English? — I 
can't  be  bothered — !" 

"What  is  it,  Bates?    Someone  to  see  me?" 

Cameron  turned  quickly  towards  the  speaker,  who 
had  come  from  the  inner  room. 

"I  have  brought  you  a  letter,  Sir,  from  Mr.  Denman," 
he  said  quietly;  "it  is  there,"  pointing  to  Bates' 
desk. 

"A  letter?  Let  me  have  it !  Why  was  not  this  brought 
to  me  at  once,  Mr.  Bates?" 

"It  was  an  open  letter,  Sir,"  replied  Bates,  "and  I 
thought  there  was  no  need  of  troubling  you,  Sir.  I  told 
the  young  man  we  had  no  vacancy  at  present." 

"This  is  a  personal  letter,  Mr.  Bates,  and  should  have 
been  brought  to  me  at  once.  Why  was  Mr. — ah — =Mr. 
Cameron  not  brought  in  to  me?" 

Mr.  Bates  murmured  something  about  not  wishing 
to  disturb  the  manager  on  trivial  business. 

"I  am  the  judge  of  that,  Mr.  Bates.  In  future,  when 
any  man  asks  to  see  me,  I  desire  him  to  be  shown  in  at 
once." 

Mr.  Bates  began  to  apologise. 

"That  is  all  that  is  necessary,  Mr.  Bates,"  said  the 
manager,  in  a  voice  at  once  quiet  and  decisive. 

"Come  in,  Mr.  Cameron.  I  am  very  sorry  this  has  hap- 
pened !" 

Cameron  followed  him  into  his  office,  noting,  as  he 
passed,  the  red  patches  of  rage  on  Mr.  Bates'  pudgy 


HOFORTHEOPEN!  147 

face,  and  catching  a  look  of  fierce  hate  from  his  small 
piggy  eyes.  It  flashed  through  his  mind  that  in  Mr. 
Bates,  at  any  rate,  he  had  found  no  friend. 

The  result  of  the  interview  with  Mr.  Fleming  was  an 
intimation  to  Mr.  Bates  that  Mr.  Cameron  was  to  have 
a  position  in  the  office  of  the  Metropolitan  Transporta- 
tion &  Cartage  Company,  and  to  begin  work  the  follow- 
ing morning. 

"Very  well,  Sir,"  replied  Mr.  Bates — he  had  appar- 
ently quite  recovered  his  equanimity — "we  shall  find 
Mr.  Cameron  a  desk." 

"We  begin  work  at  eight  o'clock  exactly,"  he  added, 
turning  to  Cameron  with  a  pleasant  smile. 

Mr.  Fleming  accompanied  Cameron  to  the  door. 

"Now,  a  wrord  with  you,  Mr.  Cameron.  You  may  find 
Mr.  Bates  a  little  difficult — he  is  something  of  a  driver 
— but,  remember,  he  is  in  charge  of  this  office;  I  never 
interfere  with  his  orders." 

"I  understand,  Sir,"  said  Cameron,  resolving  that, 
at  all  costs,  he  should  obey  Mr.  Bates'  orders,  if  only  to 
show  the  general  manager  he  could  recognise  and  appre- 
ciate a  gentleman  when  he  saw  one. 

Mr.  Fleming  was  putting  it  mildly  when  he  described 
Mr.  Bates  as  "something  of  a  driver."  The  whole  office 
staff,  from  Jimmy,  the  office  boy,  to  Jacobs,  the  gentle, 
white-haired  clerk,  whose  desk  was  in  the  farthest 
corner  of  the  room,  felt  the  drive.  He  was  not  only  office 
manager,  but  office  master  as  well.  His  rule  was  abso- 
lute, and  from  his  decisions  there  was  no  appeal.  The 
general  manager  went  on  the  theory  that  it  was  waste 
of  energy  to  keep  a  dog  and  bark  himself.  In  the  policy 
that  governed  the  office  there  were  two  rules  which  Mr. 
Bates  enforced  with  the  utmost  rigidity — the  first, 
namely,  that  every  member  of  the  staff  must  be  in  his 


148  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

or  her  place  and  ready  for  work  when  the  clock  struck 
eight;  the  other,  that  each  member  of  the  staff  , must 
work  independently  of  every  other  member.  A  man 
must  know  his  business,  and  go  through  with  it;  if  he 
required  instructions,  he  must  apply  to  the  office  man- 
ager. But,  as  a  rule,  one  experience  of  such  application 
sufficed  for  the  whole  period  of  a  clerk's  service  in  the 
office  of  the  Metropolitan  Transportation  &  Cartage 
Company,  for  Mr.  Bates  was  gifted  with  such  an  exqui- 
siteness  of  ironical  speech  that  the  whole  staff  were  wont 
to  pause  in  the  rush  of  their  work  to  listen  and  to  admire 
when  a  new  member  was  unhappy  enough  to  require 
instructions,  their  silent  admiration  acting  as  a  spur 
to  Mr.  Bates'  ingenuity  in  the  invention  of  ironical  dis- 
course. 

Of  the  peculiarities  and  idiosyncrasies  of  Mr.  Bates' 
system,  however,  Cameron  was  quite  ignorant;  nor  had 
his  experience  in  the  office  of  Messrs.  Rae  &  Macpherson 
been  such  as  to  impress  upon  him  the  necessity  of  a  close 
observation  of  the  flight  of  time.  It  did  not  disturb 
him,  therefore,  to  notice  as  he  strolled  into  the  offices  of 
the  Metropolitan  Transportation  &  Cartage  Company 
the  next  morning  that  the  hands  of  the  clock  showed 
six  minutes  past  the  hour  fixed  for  the  beginning  of  the 
day's  work.  The  office  staff  shivered  in  an  ecstasy  of 
expectant  delight.  Cameron  walked  nonchalantly  to 
Mr.  Bates'  desk,  his  overcoat  on  his  arm,  his  cap  in  his 
hand. 

"Good  morning,  Sir,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Bates  finished  writing  a  sentence,  looked  up,  and 
nodded  a  brief  good  morning. 

"We  deposit  our  street  attire  on  the  hooks  behind  the 
door,  yonder !"  he  said  with  emphatic  politeness,  point- 
ing across  the  room. 


HO    FOR    THE    OPEN!  149 

Cameron  flushed,  as  in  passing  his  desk  he  observed 
the  pleased  smile  on  the  lanky  boy's  sallow  face. 

"You  evidently  were  not  aware  of  the  hours  of  this 
office,"  continued  Mr.  Bates  when  Cameron  had  re- 
turned. "We  open  at  eight  o'clock." 

"Oh!"  said  Cameron,  carelessly.  "Eight?  Yes,  I 
thought  it  was  eight !  Ah !  I  see !  I  believe  I  am  five 
minutes  late!  But  I  suppose  I  shall  catch  up  before 
the  day  is  over!" 

"Mr.  Cameron,"  replied  Mr.  Bates  earnestly,  "if  you 
should  work  for  twenty  years  for  the  Metropolitan 
Transportation  &  Cartage  Company,  never  will  you 
catch  up  those  five  minutes ;  every  minute  of  your  office 
hours  is  pledged  to  the  company,  and  every  minute  has 
its  own  proper  work.  Your  desk  is  the  one  next  Mr. 
Jacobs,  yonder.  Your  work  is  waiting  you  there.  It  is 
quite  simple,  the  entry  of  freight  receipts  upon  the 
ledger.  If  you  wish  further  instructions,  apply  to  me 
here — you  understand?" 

"I  think  so!"  replied  Cameron.  "I  shall  do  my  best 
to—" 

"Very  well !  That  is  all !"  replied  Mr.  Bates,  plunging 
his  head  again  into  his  papers. 

The  office  staff  sank  back  to  work  with  every  expres- 
sion of  disappointment.  A  moment  later,  however,  their 
hopes  revived. 

"Oh !  Mr.  Cameron !"  called  out  Mr.  Bates.  Mr.  Cam- 
eran  returned  to  his  desk.  "If  you  should  chance  to 
be  late  again,  never  mind  going  to  your  desk ;  just  come 
here  for  your  cheque." 

Mr.  Bates'  tone  was  kindly,  even  considerate,  as  if 
he  were  anxious  to  save  his  clerk  unnecessary  incon- 
venience. 

"I  beg  your  pardon !"  stammered  Cameron,  astonished. 


150  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

"That  is  all!"  replied  Mr.  Bates,  his  nose  once  more 
in  his  papers. 

Cameron  stood  hesitating.  His  eye  fell  upon  the  boy, 
Jimmy,  whose  face  expressed  keenest  joy. 

"Do  you  mean,  Sir,  that  if  I  am  late  you  dismiss  me 
forthwith?" 

"What?"  Mr.  Bates'  tone  was  so  fiercely  explosive 
that  it  appeared  to  throw  up  his  head  with  a  violent 
motion. 

Cameron  repeated  his  question. 

"Mr.  Cameron,  my  time  is  valuable;  so  is  yours.  I 
thought  that  I  spoke  quite  distinctly.  Apparently  I 
did  not.  Let  me  repeat:  In  case  you  should  inadvert- 
ently be  late  again,  you  need  not  take  the  trouble  to  go 
to  your  desk ;  just  come  here.  Your  cheque  will  be  im- 
mediately made  out.  Saves  time,  you  know — your  time 
and  mine — and  time,  you  perceive,  in  this  office  repre- 
sents money." 

Mr.  Bates'  voice  lost  none  of  its  kindly  interest,  but 
it  had  grown  somewhat  in  intensity;  the  last  sentence 
was  uttered  with  his  face  close  to  his  desk. 

Cameron  stood  a  moment  in  uncertainty,  gazing  at 
the  bald  head  before  him ;  then,  finding  nothing  to  reply, 
he  turned  about  to  behold  Jimmy  and  his  lanky  friend 
executing  an  animated  war  pantomime  which  they 
apparently  deemed  appropriate  to  the  occasion. 

With  face  ablaze  and  teeth  set  Cameron  went  to  his 
desk,  to  the  extreme  disappointment  of  Jimmy  and  the 
lanky  youth,  who  fell  into  each  other's  arms,  apparently 
overcome  with  grief. 

For  half  an  hour  the  office  hummed  with  the  noise  of 
subdued  voices  and  clicked  with  the  rapid  fire  of  the 
typewriters.  Suddenly  through  the  hum  Mr.  Bates" 
voice  was  heard,  clear,  calm,  and  coldly  penetrating : 


HO    FOR    THE    OPEN!  151 

"Mr.  Jacobs !" 

The  old,  white-haired  clerk  started  up  from  Cam- 
eron's desk,  and  began  in  a  confused  and  gentle  voice 
to  explain  that  he  was  merely  giving  some  hints  to  the 
new  clerk. 

"Mr.  Jacobs,"  said  Mr.  Bates,  "I  cannot  hear  you, 
and  you  are  wasting  my  time !" 

"He  was  merely  showing  me  how  to  make  these 
entries!"  said  Cameron. 

"Ah!  Indeed!  Thank  you,  Mr.  Cameron!  Though 
I  believe  Mr.  Jacobs  has  not  yet  lost  the  power  of  lucid 
speech.  Mr.  Jacobs,  I  believe  you  know  the  rules  of 
this  office ;  your  fine  will  be  one-quarter  of  a  day." 

"Thank  you!"  said  Mr.  Jacobs,  hurriedly  resuming 
his  desk. 

"And,  Mr.  Cameron,  if  you  will  kindly  bring  your 
work  to  me,  I  shall  do  my  best  to  enlighten  you  in  regard 
to  the  complex  duty  of  entering  your  freight  receipts." 

An  audible  snicker  ran  through  the  delighted  staff. 
Cameron  seized  his  ledger  and  the  pile  of  freight  bills, 
and  started  for  Mr.  Bates'  desk,  catching  out  of  the 
corner  of  his  eye  the  pantomime  of  Jimmy  and  the  lanky 
one,  which  was  being  rendered  with  vigor  and  due  cau- 
tion. 

For  a  few  moments  Cameron  stood  at  the  manager's 
desk  till  that  gentleman  should  be  disengaged,  but  Mr. 
Bates  was  skilled  in  the  fine  art  of  reducing  to  abject 
humility  an  employe  who  might  give  indications  of 
insubordination.  Cameron's  rage  grew  with  every  pass- 
ing moment. 

"Here  is  the  ledger,  Sir!"  he  said  at  length. 

But  Mr.  Bates  was  so  completely  absorbed  in  the  busi- 
ness of  saving  time  that  he  made  not  the  slightest  pause 
in  his  writing,  while  the  redoubled  vigor  and  caution 


152  CORPORAL   CAMERON 

of  the  pantomime  seemed  to  indicate  the  approach  of  a 
crisis.  At  length  Mr.  Bates  raised  his  head.  Jimmy 
and  the  lanky  clerk  became  at  once  engrossed  in  their 
duties. 

"You  have  had  no  experience  of  this  kind  of  work,  Mr. 
Cameron?"  inquired  Mr.  Bates  kindly. 

"No,  Sir.  But  if  you  will  just  explain  one  or  two  mat- 
ters, I  think  I  can — " 

"Exactly!  This  is  not,  however,  a  business  college! 
But  we  shall  do  our  best  P 

A  rapturous  smile  pervaded  the  office.  Mr.  Bates  was 
in  excellent  form. 

"By  the  way,  Mr.  Cameron — pardon  my  neglect — but 
may  I  inquire  just  what  department  of  this  work  you 
are  familiar  with?" 

"Oh,  general — " 

"Ah!  The  position  of  general  manager,  however,  is 
filled  at  present !"  replied  Mr.  Bates  kindly. 

Cameron's  flush  grew  deeper,  while  Jimmy  and  his 
friend  resigned  themselves  to  an  ecstasy  of  delight. 

"I  was  going  to  say,"  said  Cameron  in  a  tone  loud  and 
deliberate,  "that  I  had  been  employed  with  the  general 
copying  work  in  a  writer's  office." 

"Writing?  Fancy!  Writing,  eh?  No  use  here !"  said 
Mr.  Bates  shortly,  for  time  was  passing. 

"A  writer  with  us  means  a  lawyer !"  replied  Cameron. 
'  "Why  the  deuce  don't  they  say  so?"  answered  Mr. 
Bates  impatiently.  "Well !  Well !"  getting  hold  of  him- 
self again.  "Here  we  allow  our  solicitors  to  look  after 
our  legal  work.  Typewrite?"  he  inquired  suddenly. 

"I  beg  your  pardon !"  replied  Cameron.  "Typewrite? 
Do  you  mean,  can  I  use  a  typewriting  machine?" 

"Yes !    Yes !    For  heaven's  sake,  yes !" 

"No,  I  cannot !" 


HO    FOR    THE    OPEN!  153 


"Bookkeep?" 

"No." 

"Good  Lord !  What  have  I  got?"  inquired  Mr.  Bates 
of  himself,  in  a  tone,  however,  perfectly  audible  to  those 
in  the  immediate  neighbourhood. 

"Try  him  licking  stamps!"  suggested  the  lanky  youth 
in  a  voice  that,  while  it  reached  the  ears  of  Jimmy  and 
others  near  by,  including  Cameron,  was  inaudible  to  the 
manager.  Mr.  Bates  caught  the  sound,  however,  and 
glared  about  him  through  his  spectacles.  Time  was 
being  wasted — the  supreme  offense  in  that  office — and 
Mr.  Bates  was  fast  losing  his  self-command. 

"Here!"  he  cried  suddenly,  seizing t a  sheaf  of  letters. 
"File  these  letters.  You  will  be  able  to  do  that,  I  guess ! 
File's  in  the  vault  over  there !" 

Cameron  took  the  letters  and  stood  looking  helplessly 
from  them  to  Mr.  Bates'  bald  head,  that  gentleman's 
face  being  already  in  close  proximity  to  the  papers  on 
his  desk. 

"Just  how  do  I  go  about  this? — I  mean,  what  system 
do  you — " 

"Jim!"  roared  Mr.  Bates,  throwing  down  his  pen, 
"show  this  con — show  Mr.  Cameron  how  to  file  these 
letters !  Just  like  -these  blank  old-country  chumps !" 
added  Mr.  Bates,  in  a  .lower  voice,  but  loud  enough  to 
be  distinctly  heard. 

Jim  came  up  with  a  smile  of  patronising  pity  on  his 
face.  It  was  the  smile  that  touched  to  life  the  mass  of 
combustible  material  that  had  been  accumulating  for 
the  last  hour  in  Cameron's  soul.  Instead  of  following 
the  boy,  he  turned  with  a  swift  movement  back  to  the 
manager's  desk,  laid  his  sheaf  of  letters  down  on  Mr. 
Bates'  papers,  and,  leaning  over  the  desk,  towards  that 
gentleman,  said: 


154  COKPORAL    CAMERON 

"Did  you  mean  that  remark  to  apply  to  me?"  His 
voice  was  very  quiet.  But  Mr.  Bates  started  back  with 
a  quick  movement  from  the  white  face  and  burning  eyes. 

"Here,  you  get  out  of  this  I"  he  cried. 

"Because,"  continued  Cameron,  "if  you  did,  I  must 
ask  you  to  apologise  at  once." 

x  All  smiles  vanished  from  the  office  staff,  even  Jimmy's 
face  assumed  a  serious  aspect.  Mr.  Bates  pushed  back 
his  chair. 

"A-po-pologise !"  he  sputtered.  "Get  out  of  this  office, 
d'ye  hear?" 

"Be  quick!"  said  Cameron,  his  hands  gripping  Mr. 
Bates'  desk  till  it  shook. 

"Jimmy!  Call  a  policeman!"  cried  Mr.  Bates,  rising 
from  his  chair. 

He  was  too  slow.  Cameron  reached  swiftly  for  his 
collar,  and  with  one  fierce  wrench  swept  Mr.  Bates  clear 
over  the  top  of  his  desk,  shook  him  till  his  head  wobbled 
dangerously,  and  flung  him  crashing  across  the  desk  and 
upon  the  prostrate  form  of  the  lanky  youth  sitting  be- 
hind it. 

"Call  a  policeman!  Call  a  policeman!"  shouted  Mr. 
Bates,  who  was  struggling  meantime  with  the  lanky 
youth  to  regain  an  upright  position. 

Cameron,  meanwhile,  walked  quietly  to  where  his  coat 
and  cap  hung. 

"Hold  him,  somebody!  Hold  him!"  shouted  Mr. 
Bates,  hurrying  towards  him. 

Cameron  turned  fiercely  upon  him. 

"Did  you  want  me,  Sir?"  he  inquired. 

Mr.  Bates  arrested  himself  with  such  violence  that 
his  feet  slid  from  under  him,  and  once  more  he  came 
sitting  upon  the  floor. 

"Get  up !"  said  Cameron,  "and  listen  to  me !" 


HO    FOR    THE    OPEN!  155 

Mr.  Bates  rose,  and  stood,  white  and  trembling. 

"I  may  not  know  much  about  your  Canadian  ways 
of  business,  but  I  believe  I  can  teach  you  some  old-coun- 
try manners.  You  have  treated  me  this  morning  like 
the  despicable  bully  that  you  are.  Perhaps  you  will 
treat  the  next  old-country  man  with  the  decency  that 
is  coming  to  him,  even  if  he  has  the  misfortune  to  be 
your  clerk." 

With  these  words  Cameron  turned  upon  his  heel  and 
walked  deliberately  towards  the  door.  Immediately 
Jimmy  sprang  before  him,  and,  throwing  the  door  wide 
open,  bowed  him  out  as  if  he  were  indeed  the  Prince 
of  Wales.  Thus  abruptly  ended  Cameron's  connection 
with  the  Metropolitan  Transportation  &  Cartage  Com- 
pany. Before  the  day  was  done  the  whole  city  had  heard 
the  tale,  which  lost  nothing  in  the  telling. 

Next  morning  Mr.  Denman  was  surprised  to  have 
Cameron  walk  in  upon  him. 

"Hullo,  young  man!"  shouted  the  lawyer,  "this  is  a 
pretty  business !  Upon  my  soul !  Your  manner  of  entry 
into  our  commercial  life  is  somewhat  forceful!  What 
the  deuce  do  you  mean  by  all  this?" 

Cameron  stood,  much  abashed.  His  passion  was  all 
gone;  in  the  calm  light  of  after-thought  his  action  of 
yesterday  seemed  boyish. 

"I'm  awfully  sorry,  Mr.  Denman,"  he  replied,  "and  I 
came  to  apologise  to  you." 

"To  me?"  cried  Denman.  "Why  to  me?  I  expect, 
if  you  wish  to  get  a  job  anywhere  in  this  town,  you  will 
need  to  apologise  to  the  chap  you  knocked  down — what's 
his  name?" 

"Mr.  Bates,  I  think  his  name  is,  Sir;  but,  of  course,  I 
cannot  apologise  to  him." 

"By  Jove!"  roared  Mr.  Denman,  "he  ought  to  have 


156  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

thrown  you  out  of  his  office !  That  is  what  I  would  have 
done !" 

Cameron  glanced  up  and  down  Mr.  Denman's  well- 
knit  figure. 

"I  don't  think  so,  Sir,"  he  said,  with  a  smile. 

"Why  not?"  said  Mr.  Denman,  grasping  the  arms  of 
his  office  chair. 

"Because  you  would  not  have  insulted  a  stranger  in 
your  office  who  was  trying  his  best  to  understand  his 
work.  And  then,  I  should  not  have  tried  it  on  you." 

"And  why?" 

"Well,  I  think  I  know  a  gentleman  when  I  see  one." 

Mr.  Denman  was  not  to  be  appeased. 

"Well,  let  me  tell  you,  young  man,  it  would  have  been 
a  mighty  unhealthy  thing  for  you  to  have  cut  up  any 
such  shine  in  this  office.  I  have  done  some  Rugby  in 
my  day,  my  boy,  if  you  know  what  that  means." 

"I  have  done  a  little,  too,"  said  Cameron,  with  slightly 
heightened  colour. 

"You  have,  eh !    Where?" 

"The  Scottish  International,  Sir." 

"By  Jove !  You  don't  tell  me !"  replied  Mr.  Denman, 
his  tone  expressing  a  new  admiration  and  respect. 
"When?  This  year?" 

"No,  last  year,  Sir — against  Wales !" 

"By  Jove!"  cried  Mr.  Denman  again;  "give  me  your 
hand,  boy !  Any  man  who  has  made  the  Scottish  Inter- 
nationals is  not  called  to  stand  any  cheek  from  a  cad  like 
Bates." 

Mr.  Denman  shook  Cameron  warmly  by  the  hand. 

"Tell  us  about  it !"  he  cried.  "It  must  have  been  rare 
sport.  If  Bates  only  knew  it,  he  ought  to  count  it  an 
honour  to  have  been  knocked  down  by  a  Scottish  Inter- 
national." 


HO    FOR   THE    OPEN!  157 

"I  didn't  knock  him  down,  Sir!"  said  Cameron, 
apologetically ;  "he  is  only  a  little  chap ;  I  just  gave  him 
a  bit  of  a  shake,"  and  Cameron  proceeded  to  recount 
the  proceedings  of  the  previous  morning. 

Mr.  Denman  was  hugely  delighted. 

"Serves  the  little  beast  bloody  well  right!"  he  cried 
enthusiastically.  "But  what's  to  do  now?  They  will 
be  afraid  to  let  you  into  their  offices  in  this  city." 

"I  think,  Sir,  I  am  done  with  offices;  I  mean  to  try 
the  land." 

"Farm,  eh?"  mused  Mr.  Denman.  "Well,  so  be  it! 
It  will  probably  be  safer  for  you  there — possibly  for 
some  others  as  well." 


158  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

CHAPTER  II 
A  MAN'S  JOB 

CAMERON  slept  heavily  and  long  into  the  day, 
but  as  he  awoke  he  was  conscious  of  a  delightful 
exhilaration  possessing  him.  For  the  first  time 
in  his  life  he  was  a  free  man,  ungoverned  and  unguided. 
For  four  dreary  weeks  he  had  waited  in  Montreal  for 
answers  to  his  enquiries  concerning  positions  with 
farmers,  but  apparently  the  Canadian  farmers  were  not 
attracted  by  the  qualifications  and  experience  Cameron 
had  to  offer.  At  length  he  had  accepted  the  advice  of 
Martin's  uncle  in  Montreal,  who  assured  him  with  local 
pride  that,  if  he  desired  a  position  on  a  farm,  the  district 
of  which  the  little  city  of  London  was  the  centre  was 
the  very  garden  of  Canada.  He  was  glad  now  to  remem- 
ber that  he  had  declined  a  letter  of  introduction.  He 
was  now  entirely  on  his  own.  Neither  in  this  city  nor 
in  the  country  round  about  was  there  a  soul  with  whom 
he  had  the  remotest  acquaintance.  The  ways  of  life 
led  out  from  his  feet,  all  untried,  all  unknown.  Which 
he  should  choose  he  knew  not,  but  with  a  thrill  of  ex- 
ultation he  thanked  his  stars  the  choosing  was  his  own 
concern.  A  feeling  of  adventure  was  upon  him,  a  new 
courage  was  rising  in  his  heart.  The  failure  that  had 
hitherto  dogged  his  past  essays  in  life  did  not  dampen 
his  confidence,  for  they  had  been  made  under  other 
auspices  than  his  own.  He  had  not  fitted  into  his  former 
positions,  but  they  had  not  been  of  his  own  choosing. 
He  would  now  find  a  place  for  himself  and  if  he  failed 
again  he  was  prepared  to  accept  the  responsibility.  One 
bit  of  philosophy  he  carried  with  him  from  Mr.  Den- 
man's  farewell  interview — "Now,  young  man,  remem- 


159 


ber,"  that  gentleman  had  said  after  he  had  bidden  him 
farewell,  "this  world  is  pretty  much  made  already; 
success  consists  in  adjustment.  Don't  try  to  make  your 
world,  adjust  yourself  to  it.  Don't  fight  the  world, 
serve  it  till  you  master  it."  Cameron  determined  he 
would  study  adjustments;  his  fighting  tendency,  which 
had  brought  him  little  success  in  the  past,  he  would 
control. 

At  this  point  the  throb  of  a  band  broke  in  upon  his 
meditations  and  summoned  him  from  his  bed.  He 
sprang  to  the  window.  It  was  circus  day  and  the  morn- 
ing parade,  in  all  its  mingled  and  cosmopolitan  glory, 
was  slowly  evolving  its  animated  length  to  the  strains 
of  bands  of  music.  There  were  bands  on  horses  and 
bands  on  chariots,  and  at  the  tail  of  the  procession  a 
fearful  and  wonderful  instrument  bearing  the  euphoni- 
ous and  classic  name  of  the  "calliope,"  whose  chief  func- 
tion seemed  to  be  that  of  terrifying  the  farmers'  horses 
into  frantic  and  determined  attempts  to  escape  from 
these  horrid  alarms  of  the  city  to  the  peaceful  haunts 
of  their  rural  solitudes. 

Cameron  was  still  boy  enough  to  hurry  through  his 
morning  duties  in  order  that  he  might  mix  with  the 
crowd  and  share  the  perennial  delights  which  a  circus 
affords.  The  stable  yard  attached  to  his  hotel  was  lined 
three  deep  with  buggies,  carriages,  and  lumber  waggons, 
which  had  borne  in  the  crowds  of  farmers  from  the  coun- 
try. The  hotel  was  thronged  with  sturdy  red-faced 
farm  lads,  looking  hot  and  uncomfortable  in  their  un- 
accustomed Sunday  suits,  gorgeous  in  their  rainbow 
ties,  and  rakish  with  their  hats  set  at  all  angles  upon 
their  elaborately  brushed  heads.  Older  men,  too, 
bearded  and  staid,  moved  with  silent  and  self-respecting 
dignity  through  the  crowds,  gazing  with  quiet  and  ob- 


160  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

servant  eyes  upon  the  shifting  phantasmagoria  that 
filled  the  circus  grounds  and  the  streets  nearby.  With 
these,  too,  there  mingled  a  few  of  both  old  and  young 
who,  with  bacchanalian  enthusiasm,  were  swaggering 
their  way  through  the  crowds,  each  followed  by  a  com- 
pany of  friends  good-naturedly  tolerant  or  solicitously 
careful. 

Cameron's  eyes,  roving  over  the  multitude,  fell  upon 
a  little  group  that  held  his  attention,  the  principal  figure 
of  which  was  a  tall  middle  aged  man  with  a  good-natured 
face,  adorned  with  a  rugged  grey  chin  whisker,  who  was 
loudly  declaiming  to  a  younger  companion  with  a  hard 
face  and  very  wide  awake,  "My  name's  Tom  Haley;  ye 
can't  come  over  me." 

"Ye  bet  yer  life  they  can't.  Ye  ain't  no  chicken!" 
exclaimed  his  hard-faced  friend.  "Say,  let's  liquor  up 
once  more  before  we  go  to  see  the  elephant." 

With  these  two  followed  a  boy  of  some  thirteen  years, 
freckled  faced  and  solemn,  slim  and  wiry  of  body,  who 
was  anxiously  striving  to  drag  his  father  away  from  one 
of  the  drinking  booths  that  dotted  the  circus  grounds, 
and  towards  the  big  tent;  but  the  father  had  been  already 
a  too  frequent  visitor  at  the  booth  to  be  quite  amenable 
to  his  son's  pleading.  He,  in  a  glorious  mood  of  self- 
appreciation,  kept  announcing  to  the  public  generally 
and  to  his  hard-faced  friend  in  particular — 

"My  name's  Tom  Haley;  ye  can't  come  over  me!" 

"Come  on,  father,"  pleaded  Tim. 

"No  hurry,  Timmy,  me  boy,"  said  his  father.  "The 
elephants  won't  run  away  with  the  monkeys  and  the 
clowns  can't  git  out  of  the  ring." 

"Oh,  come  on,  dad,  I'm  sure  the  show's  begun." 

"Cheese  it,  young  feller,"  said  the  young  man,  "yer 
dad's  able  to  take  care  of  himself." 


A   MAN'S    JOB 


"Aw,  you  shut  yer  mouth !"  replied  Tim  fiercely.  "I 
know  what  you're  suckin'  round  for." 

"Good  boy,  Tim,"  laughed  his  father ;  "ye  giv'  'im  one 
that  time.  Guess  we'll  go.  So  long,  Sam,  if  that's  yer 
name.  Ye  see  I've  jist  got  ter  take  in  this  'ere  show 
this  morning  with  Tim  'ere,  and  then  we  have  got  some 
groceries  to  git  for  the  old  woman.  See  there,"  he  drew 
a  paper  from  his  pocket,  "wouldn't  dare  show  up  with- 
out 'em,  ye  bet,  eh,  Tim!  Why,  it's  her  egg  and  butter 
money  and  she  wants  value  fer  it,  she  does.  Well,  so 
long,  Sam,  see  ye  later,"  and  with  the  triumphant  Tim 
he  made  for  the  big  tent,  leaving  a  wrathful  and  dis- 
appointed man  behind  him. 

Cameron  spent  the  rest  of  the  day  partly  in  "taking 
in"  the  circus  and  partly  in  conversing  with  the  farm- 
ers who  seemed  to  have  taken  possession  of  the  town; 
but  in  answer  to  his  most  diligent  and  careful  enquiries 
he  could  hear  of  no  position  on  a  farm  for  which  he 
could  honestly  offer  himself.  The  farmers  wanted 
mowers,  or  cradlers,  or  good  smart  turnip  hands,  and 
Cameron  sorrowfully  had  to  confess  he  was  none  of 
these.  There  apparently  was  no  single  bit  of  work  in 
the  farmer's  life  that  Cameron  felt  himself  qualified  to 
perform. 

It  was  wearing  towards  evening  when  Cameron  once 
more  came  across  Tim.  He  was  standing  outside  the 
bar  room  door,  big  tears  silently  coursing  down  his  pale 
and  freckled  cheeks. 

"Hello!"  cried  Cameron,  "what's  up,  old  chap? 
Where's  your  dad,  and  has  he  got  his  groceries  yet?" 

"No,"  said  Tim,  hastily  wiping  away  his  tears  and 
looking  up  somewhat  shyly  and  sullenly  into  Cameron's 
face.  What  he  saw  there  apparently  won  his  confidence. 

"He's  in  yonder,"  he  continued,  "and  I  can't  git  him 


162  COKPORAL    CAM  EBON 

out.  They  won't  let  him  come.  They're  jist  making  'im 
full  so  he  can't  do  anything,  and  we  ought  to  be  startin' 
f er  home  right  away,  too !" 

"Well,  let's  go  in  anyway  and  see  what  they  are  do- 
ing," said  Cameron  cheerfully,  to  whom  the  pale  tear- 
stained  face  made  strong  appeal. 

"They  won't  let  us,"  said  Tim.  "There's  a  feller  there 
that  chucks  me  out." 

"Won't,  eh?    We'll  see  about  that!    Come  along!" 

Cameron  entered  the  bar  room,  with  Tim  following, 
and  looked  about  him.  The  room  was  crowded  to  the 
door  with  noisy  excited  men,  many  of  whom  were  par- 
tially intoxicated.  At  the  bar,  two  deep,  stood  a  line 
of  men  with  glasses  in  their  hands,  or  waiting  to  be 
served.  In  the  farthest  corner  of  the  room  stood  Tim's 
father,  considerably  the  worse  of  his  day's  experiences, 
and  lovingly  embracing  the  hard-faced  young  man,  to 
whom  he  was  at  intervals  announcing,  "My  name's  Tom 
Haley !  Ye  can't  git  over  me !" 

As  Cameron  began  to  push  through  the  crowd,  a  man 
with  a  very  red  face,  obviously  on  the  watch  for  Tim, 
cried  out — 

"Say,  sonny,  git  out  of  here!  This  is  no  place  fer 
you !" 

Tim  drew  back,  but  Cameron,  turning  to  him,  said, 

"Come  along,  Tim.  He's  with  me,"  he  added,  address- 
ing the  man.  "He  wants  his  father." 

"His  father's  not  here.  He  left  half  an  hour  ago.  I 
told  him  so." 

"You  were  evidently  mistaken,  for  I  see  him  just 
across  the  room  there,"  said  Cameron  quietly. 

"Oh!  is  he  a  friend  of  yours?"  enquired  the  red-faced 
man. 

"No,  I  don't  know  him  at  all,  but  Tim  does,  and  Tim 


A    MAN'S    JOB  163 

wants  him,"  said  Cameron,  beginning  to  push  his  way 
through  the  crowd  towards  the  vociferating  Haley,  who 
appeared  to  be  on  the  point  of  backing  up  some  of  his 
statements  with  money,  for  he  was  flourishing  a  handful 
of  bills  in  the  face  of  the  young  man  Sam,  who  appar- 
ently was  quite  willing  to  accommodate  him  with  the 
wager. 

Before  Cameron  could  make  his  way  through  the 
swaying,  roaring  crowd,  the  red-faced  man  slipped  from 
his  side,  and  in  a  very  few  moments  appeared  at  a  side 
door  near  Tom  Haley's  corner.  Almost  immediately 
there  was  a  shuffle  and  Haley  and  his  friends  disap- 
peared through  the  side  door. 

"Hello!"  cried  Cameron,  "there's  something  doing! 
We'll  just  slip  around  there,  my  boy."  So  saying,  he 
drew  Tim  back  from  the  crowd  and  out  of  the  front  door, 
and,  hurrying  around  the  house,  came  upon  Sam,  the 
red-faced  man,  and  Haley  in  a  lane  leading  past  the 
stable  yard.  The  red-faced  man  was  affectionately  urg- 
ing a  bottle  upon  Haley. 

"There  they  are !"  said  Tim  in  an  undertone,  clutching 
Cameron's  arm.  "You  get  him  away  and  I'll  hitch 
up." 

"All  right,  Tim,"  said  Cameron,  "I'll  get  him.  They 
are  evidently  up  to  no  good." 

"What's  yer  name?"  said  Tim  hurriedly. 

"Cameron !" 

"Come  on,  then!"  he  cried,  dragging  Cameron  at  a 
run  towards  his  father.  "Here,  Dad !"  he  cried,  "this  is 
my  friend,  Mr.  Cameron !  Come  on  home.  I'm  going  to 
hitch  up.  We'll  be  awful  late  for  the  chores  and  we  got 
them  groceries  to  git.  Come  on,  Dad !" 

"Aw,  gwan !  yer  a  cheeky  kid  anyway,"  said  Sam,  giv- 
ing Tim  a  shove  that  nearly  sent  him  on  his  head. 


164  COBPOBAL    CAMERON 

"Hold  on  there,  my  man,  you  leave  the  boy  alone," 
said  Cameron. 

"What's  your  business  in  this,  young  feller?" 

"Never  mind!"  said  Cameron.  "Tim  is  a  friend  of 
mine  and  no  one  is  going  to  hurt  him.  Bun  along,  Tim, 
and  get  your  horses." 

"Friend  o'  Tim's,  eh!"  said  Haley,  in  half  drunken 
good  nature.  "Friend  o'  Tim's,  friend  o'  mine,"  he 
added,  gravely  shaking  Cameron  by  the  hand.  "Have  a 
drink,  young  man.  You  look  a'  right !" 

Cameron  took  the  bottle,  put  it  to  his  lips.  The  liquor 
burned  like  fire. 

"Great  Caesar !"  he  gasped,  contriving  to  let  the  bottle 
drop  upon  a  stone.  "What  do  you  call  that?" 

"Pretty  hot  stuff !"  cried  Haley,  with  a  shout  of  laugh- 
ter. 

But  Sam,  unable  to  see  the  humour  of  the  situation, 
exclaimed  in  a  rage,  "Here,  you  cursed  fool!  That  is 
my  bottle!" 

"Sorry  to  be  so  clumsy,"  said  Cameron  apologetically, 
"but  it  surely  wasn't  anything  to  drink,  was  it?" 

"Yes,  it  jest  was  something  to  drink,  was  it?"  mocked 
Sam,  approaching  Cameron  with  menace  in  his  eye  and 
attitude.  "I  have  a  blanked  good  notion  to  punch  your 
head,  too!" 

"Oh!  I  wouldn't  do  that  if  I  were  you,"  said  Cam- 
eron, smiling  pleasantly. 

"Say,  Sam,  don't  get  mad,  Sam,"  interposed  Haley. 
"This  young  feller's  a  friend  o'  Tim's.  I'll  git  another 
bottle  a'  right.  I've  got  the  stuff  right  here."  He  pulled 
out  his  roll  of  bills.  "And  lots  more  where  this  comes 
from." 

"Let  me  have  that,  Mr.  Haley,  I'll  get  the  bottle  for 
you,"  said  Cameron,  reaching  out  for  the  bills. 


A   MAN'S    JOB  165 

"A'  right,"  said  Haley.  "Friend  o'  Tim's,  friend  o' 
mine." 

"Here,  young  feller,  you're  too  fresh !"  cried  the  red- 
faced  man,  "buttin'  in  here !  You  make  tracks,  git  out ! 
Come,  git  out,  I  tell  yeh !" 

"Give  it  to  him  quick,"  said  Sam  in  a  low  voice. 

The  red-faced  man,  without  the  slightest  warning, 
swiftly  stepped  towards  Cameron  and,  before  the  latter 
could  defend  himself,  struck  him  a  heavy  blow.  Cam- 
eron staggered,  fell,  and  struggled  again  to  his  knees. 
The  red-faced  man  sprang  forward  to  kick  him  in  the 
face,  when  Haley  interposed — 

"Hold  up  there,  now !  Friend  o'  Tim's,  friend  o'  mine, 
ye  know !" 

"Hurry  up,"  said  Sam,  closing  in  on  Haley.  "Quit 
fooling.  Give  'im  the  billy  and.  let's  get  away !" 

But  Haley,  though  unskilled  with  his  hands,  was  a 
man  of  more  than  ordinary  strength,  and  he  swung  his 
long  arms  about  with  such  vigour  that  neither  Sam, 
who  was  savagely  striking  at  his  head,  nor  the  red-faced 
man,  who  was  dancing  about  waiting  for  a  chance  to 
get  in  with  the  "billy,"  which  he  held  in  his  hand,  was 
able  to  bring  the  affair  to  a  finish.  It  could  be  a  matter 
of  only  a  few  moments,  however,  for  both  Sam  and  his 
friend  were  evidently  skilled  in  the  arts  of  the  thug, 
while  Haley,  though  powerful  enough,  was  chiefly  occu- 
pying himself  in  beating  the  air.  A  blow  from  the  billy 
dropped  one  of  Haley's  arms  helpless.  The  red-faced 
man,  following  up  his  advantage,  ran  in  to  finish,  but 
Haley  gripped  him  by  the  wrist  and,  exerting  all  his 
strength,  gave  a  mighty  heave  and  threw  him  heavily 
against  Sam,  who  was  running  in  upon  the  other  side. 
At  the  same  time  Cameron,  who  was  rapidly  recovering, 
clutched  Sam  by  a  leg  and  brought  him  heavily  to  earth. 


166  COEPOEALCAMEEON 

Eeaching  down,  Haley  gripped  Cameron  by  the  collar 
and  hauled  him  to  his  feet  just  as  Sam,  who  had  sprung 
up,  ran  to  the  attack.  Steadied  by  Haley,  Cameron 
braced  himself,  and,  at  exactly  the  right  moment,  stiff- 
ened his  left  arm  with  the  whole  weight  of  his  body 
behind  it.  The  result  was  a  most  unhappy  one  for  Sam, 
who,  expecting  no  such  reception,  was  lifted  clear  off 
his  feet  and  hurled  to  the  ground  some  distance  away. 
The  exhilaration  of  his  achievement  brought  Cameron's 
blood  back  again  to  his  brain.  Swiftly  he  turned  upon 
the  red-faced  man  just  as  that  worthy  had  brought 
Haley  to  his  knees  with  a  cruel  blow  and  was  preparing 
to  finish  off  his  victim.  With  a  shout  Cameron  sprang 
at  him,  the  man  turned  quickly,  warded  off  Cameron's 
blow,  and  then,  seeing  Sam  lying  helpless  upon  the 
ground,  turned  and  fled  down  the  lane. 

"Say,  young  feller!"  panted  Haley,  staggering  to  his 
feet,  "yeh  came  in  mighty  slick  that  time.  Yeh  ain't 
got  a  bottle  on  ye,  hev  yeh?" 

"No !"  said  Cameron,  "but  there's  a  pump  near  by." 

"Jest  as  good  and  a  little  better,"  said  Haley,  stag- 
gering towards  the  pump.  "Say,"  he  continued,  with  a 
humourous  twinkle  in  his  eye,  and  glancing  at  the  man 
lying  on  the  ground,  "Sam's  kinder  quiet,  ain't  he?  Eun 
agin  something  hard  like,  I  guess.'7 

Cameron  filled  a  bucket  with  water  and  into  its  icy 
depths  Haley  plunged  his  head. 

"Ow!  that's  good,"  he  sputtered,  plunging  his  head 
in  again  and  again.  "Fill  'er  up  once  more!"  he  said, 
wiping  off  his  face  with  a  big  red  handkerchief.  "Now, 
I  shouldn't  wonder  if  it  would  help  Sam  a  bit." 

He  picked  up  the  bucket  of  water  and  approached 
Sam,  who  meantime  had  got  to  a  sitting  position  and 
was  blinking  stupidly  around. 


A    MAN'S    JOB  167 

"Here,  ye  blamed  hog,  hev  a  wash,  ye  need  it 
bad!"  So  saying,  Haley  flung  the  whole  bucket  of 
water  over  Sam's  head  and  shoulders.  "Fill  'er  up 
again,"  he  said,  but  Sam  had  had  enough,  and,  swear- 
ing wildly,  gasping  and  sputtering,  he  made  off  down 
the  lane. 

"I've  heard  o'  them  circus  toughs,"  said  Haley  in  a 
meditative  tone,  "but  never  jest  seen  'em  before.  Say, 
young  feller,  yeh  came  in  mighty  handy  fer  me  a'  right, 
and  seeing  as  yer  Tim's  friend  put  it  there."  He  gripped 
Cameron's  hand  and  shook  it  heartily.  "Here's  Tim 
with  the  team,  and,  say,  there's  no  need  to  mention  any- 
thing about  them  fellers.  Tim's  real  tender  hearted. 
Well,  I'm  glad  to  hev  met  yeh.  Good-bye!  Living 
here?" 

"Nor 

"Travelling  eh?" 

"Not  exactly,"  replied  Cameron.  "The  truth  is  I'm 
looking  for  a  position." 

"A  position?    School  teachin',  mebbe?" 

"No,  a  position  on  a  farm." 

"On  a  farm?  Ha!  ha!  good!  Position  on  a  farm," 
repeated  Haley. 

"Yes,"  replied  Cameron.    "Do  you  know  of  any?" 

"Position  on  a  farm !"  said  Haley  again,  as  if  trying 
to  grasp  the  meaning  of  this  extraordinary  quest. 
"There  ain't  any." 

"No  positions?"  enquired  Cameron. 

"Nary  one!  Say,  young  man,  where  do  you  come 
from?" 

"Scotland,"  replied  Cameron. 

"Scotland!  yeh  don't  say,  now.    Jest  out,  eh?" 

"Yes,  about  a  month  or  so." 

"Well,  well !    Yeh  don't  say  so !" 


168 


"Yes,"  replied  Cameron,  "and  I  am  surprised  to  hear 
that  there  is  no  work." 

"Oh!  hold  on  there  now!"  interposed  Haley  gravely. 
"If  it's  work  you  want  there  are  stacks  of  it  lying  round, 
but  there  ain't  no  positions.  Positions!"  ejaculated 
Haley,  who  seemed  to  be  fascinated  by  the  word,  "there 
ain't  none  on  my  farm  except  one  and  I  hold  that  my- 
self ;  but  there's  lots  o'  work,  and — why !  I  want  a  man 
right  now.  What  say?  Come  along,  stay  's  long's  yeh 
like.  I  like  yeh  fine." 

"All  rignt,"  said  Cameron.  "Wait  till  I  get  my  bag, 
but  I  ought  to  tell  you  I  have  had  no  experience." 

"No  experience,  eh!"  Haley  pondered.  "Well,  we'll 
give  it  to  you,  and  anyway  you  saved  me  some  experi- 
ence to-day  and  you  come  home  with  me." 

When  he  returned  he  found  Haley  sitting  on  the  bot- 
tom of  the  wagon  rapidly  sinking  into  slumber.  The 
effects  of  the  bucket  were  passing  off. 

"What  about  the  groceries,  Tim?"  enquired  Cameron. 
,  "We've  got  to  git  ?em,"  said  Tim,  "or  we'll  catch  it 
sure." 

Leaving  Cameron  to  wonder  what  it  might  be  that 
they  were  sure  to  catch,  Tim  extracted  from  his  father's 
pocket  the  paper  on  which  were  listed  the  groceries  to 
be  purchased,  and  the  roll  of  bills,  and  handed  both  to 
Cameron. 

"You  best  git  'em,"  he  said,  and,  mounting  to  the  high 
spring  seat,  turned  the  team  out  of  the  yard.  The  gro- 
ceries secured  with  Cameron's  help,  they  set  off  for 
home  as  the  long  June  evening  was  darkening  into  night. 

"My !  it's  awful  late,"  said  Tim  in  a  voice  full  of  fore- 
boding. "And  Perkins  ain't  no  good  at  chores." 

"How  far  is  it  to  your  home?"  enquired  Cameron. 

"Nine  miles  out  this  road  and  three  off  to  the  east." 


A   MAN'S    JOB  169 

"And  who's  Perkins?" 

"Perkins !  Joe  Perkins !  He's  our  hired  man.  He's 
a  terror  to  work  at  plowin',  cradlin',  and  bindin',  but 
he  ain't  no  good  at  chores.  I  bet  yeh  he'll  leave  Mandy 
to  do  the  milkin',  ten  cows,  and  some's  awful  bad." 

"And  who's  Mandy?"  enquired  Cameron. 

"Mandy!  She's  my  sister.  She's  an  awful  quick 
milker.  She  can  beat  Dad,  or  Perkins,  or  any  of  'em, 
but  ten  cows  is  a  lot,  and  then  there's  the  pigs  and  the 
calves  to  feed,  and  the  wood,  too.  I  bet  Perkins  won't 
cut  a  stick.  He's  good  enough  in  the  field,"  continued 
Tim,  with  an  obvious  desire  to  do  Perkins  full  justice, 
"but  he  ain't  no  good  around  the  house.  He  says  he 
ain't  hired  to  do  women's  chores,  and  Ma  she  won't  ask 
'im.  She  says  if  he  don't  do  what  he  sees  to  be  done 
she'd  see  'im  far  enough  before  she'd  ask  'im."  And  so 
Timothy  went  on  with  a  monologue  replete  with  infor- 
mation, his  high  thin  voice  rising  clear  above  the  roar 
and  rattle  of  the  lumber  wagon  as  it  rumbled  and  jolted 
over  the  rutty  gravel  road.  Those  who  knew  the  boy 
would  have  been  amazed  at  his  loquacity,  but  something 
in  Cameron  had  won  his  confidence  and  opened  his  heart. 
Hence  his  monologue,  in  which  the  qualities,  good  and 
bad,  of  the  members  of  the  family,  of  their  own  hired 
man  and  of  other  hired  men  were  fully  discussed.  The 
standard  of  excellence  for  work  in  the  neighbourhood, 
however,  appeared  to  be  Perkins,  whose  abilities  Tim 
appeared  greatly  to  admire,  but  for  whose  person  he 
appeared  to  have  little  regard. 

"He's  mighty  good  at  turnip  hoeing,  too,"  he  said.  "I 
could  pretty  near  keep  up  to  him  last  year  and  I  believe 
I  could  do  it  this  year.  Some  day  soon  I'm  going  to  git 
after  'im.  My !  I'd  like  to  trim  'im  to  a  fine  point." 

The  live  stock  on  the  farm  in  general,  and  the  young 


170  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

colts  in  particular,  among  which  a  certain  two-year-old 
was  showing  signs  of  marvellous  speed,  these  and  cog- 
nate subjects  relating  to  the  farm,  its  dwellers  and  its 
activities,  Tim  passed  in  review,  with  his  own  shrewd 
comments  thereon. 

"And  what  do  you  play,  Tim?"  asked  Cameron,  seek- 
ing a  point  of  contact  with  the  boy. 

"Nothing"  said  Tim  shortly.    "No  time." 

"Don't  you  go  to  school?" 

"Yes,  in  fall  and  winter.  Then  we  play  ball  and 
shinny  some,  but  there  ain't  much  time." 

"But  you  can't  work  all  the  time,  Tim?  What  work 
can  you  do?" 

"Oh !"  replied  Tim  carelessly,  "I  run  a  team." 

"Run  a  team?    What  do  you  mean?" 

Tim  glanced  up  at  him  and,  perceiving  that  he  was 
quite  serious,  proceeded  to  explain  that  during  the 
spring's  work  he  had  taken  his  place  in  the  plowing 
and  harrowing  with  the  "other"  men,  that  he  expected 
to  drive  the  mower  and  reaper  in  haying  and  harvest, 
that,  in  short,  in  almost  all  kinds  of  farm  work  he  was 
ready  to  take  the  place  of  a  grown  man;  and  all  this 
without  any  sign  of  boasting. 

Cameron  thought  over  his  own  life,  in  which  sport 
had  filled  up  so  large  a  place  and  work  so  little,  and  in 
which  he  had  developed  so  little  power  of  initiative  and 
such  meagre  self-dependence,  and  he  envied  the  solemn- 
faced  boy  at  his  side,  handling  his  team  and  wagon  with 
the  skill  of  a  grown  man. 

"I  say,  Tim!"  he  exclaimed  in  admiration,  "you're 
great.  I  wish  I  could  do  half  as  much." 

"Oh,  pshaw!"  exclaimed  Tim  in  modest  self-disdain, 
"that  ain't  nothin',  but  I  wish  I  could  git  off  a  bit." 

"Get  off?    What  do  you  mean?" 


A   MAN'S    JOB  171 

The  boy  was  silent  for  some  moments,  then  asked 
shyly : 

"Say !  Is  there  big  cities  in  Scotland,  an'  crowds  of 
people,  an'  trains,  an'  engines,  an'  factories,  an'  things? 
My !  I  wish  I  could  git  away !" 

Then  Cameron  understood  dimly  something  of  the 
wander-lust  in  the  boy's  soul,  of  the  hunger  for  adven- 
ture, for  the  colour  and  movement  of  life  in  the  great 
world  "away"  from  the  farm,  that  thrilled  in  the  boy's 
voice.  So  for  the  next  half  hour  he  told  Tim  tales  of  his 
own  life,  the  chief  glory  of  which  had  been  his  achieve- 
ments in  the  realm  of  sport,  and,  before  he  was  aware, 
he  was  describing  to  the  boy  the  great  International 
with  Wales,  till,  remembering  the  disastrous  finish,  he 
brought  his  narrative  to  an  abrupt  close. 

"And  did  yeh  lick  'em?"  demanded  Tim  in  a  voice  of 
intense  excitement. 

"No,"  said  Cameron  shortly. 

"Oh,  hedges !  I  wisht  ye  had !"  exclaimed  Tim  in  deep 
disappointment. 

"It  was  my  fault,"  replied  Cameron  bitterly,  for  the 
eager  wish  in  the  boy's  heart  had  stirred  a  similar  yearn- 
ing in  his  own  and  had  opened  an  old  sore. 

"I  was  a  fool,"  he  said,  more  to  himself  than  to  Tim. 
"I  let  myself  get  out  of  condition  and  so  I  lost  them 
the  match." 

"Aw,  git  out !"  said  Tim,  with  unbelieving  scorn.  "I 
bet  yeh  didn't !  My !  I  wisht  I  could  see  them  games !" 

"Oh,  pshaw !  Tim,  they  are  not  half  so  worth  while  as 
plowing,  harrowing,  and  running  your  team.  Why, 
here  you  are,  a  boy  of — how  old?" 

"Thirteen,"  said  Tim. 

"A  boy  of  thirteen  able  to  do  a  man's  work,  and  here 
am  I,  a  man  of  twenty-one,  only  able  to  do  a  boy's  work, 


172  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

and  not  even  that.  But  I'm  going  to  learn,  Tim,"  added 
Cameron.  "You  hear  me,  I  am  going  to  learn  to  do  a 
man's  work.  If  I  can,"  he  added  doubtfully. 

"Oh,  shucks !"  replied  Tim,  "you  bet  yeh  can,  and  I'll 
show  yeh,"  with  which  mutual  determination  they  turned 
in  at  the  gate  of  the  Haley  farm,  which  was  to  be  the 
scene  of  Cameron's  first  attempt  to  do  a  man's  work 
and  to  fill  a  man's  place  in  the  world. 


A    DAY'S    WORK  173 

CHAPTER  III 
A  DAY'S  WORK 

THE  Haley  farm  was  a  survival  of  an  ambitious 
past.  Once  the  property  of  a  rich  English  gen- 
tleman, it  had.  been  laid  out  with  an  eye  to 
appearance  rather  than  to  profit  and,  though  the  soil 
was  good  enough,  it  had  never  been  worked  to  profit. 
Consequently,  when  its  owner  had  tired  of  Colonial  life, 
he  had  at  first  rented  the  farm,  but,  finding  this  unsatis- 
factory, he,  in  a  moment  of  disgust,  advertised  it  for 
sale.  Pretentious  in  its  plan  and  in  its  appointments, 
its  neglected  and  run  down  condition  gave  it  an  air  of 
decayed  gentility,  depressing  alike  to  the  eye  of  the  be- 
holder and  to  the  selling  price  of  the  owner.  Haley 
bought  it  and  bought  it  cheap.  From  the  high  road  a 
magnificent  avenue  of  maples  led  to  a  house  of  fine  pro- 
portions, though  sadly  needing  repair.  The  wide  veran- 
dahs, the  ample  steps  wrere  unpainted  and  falling  into 
ruin;  the  lawn  reaching  from  the  front  door  to  the 
orchard  was  spacious,  but  overgrown  with  burdocks, 
nettles  and  other  noxious  weeds;  the  orchard,  which 
stretched  from  the  lawn  to  the  road  on  both  sides  of 
the  lane,  had  been  allowed  to  run  sadly  to  wood.  At 
the  side  of  the  house  the  door-yard  was  littered  with 
abandoned  farm  implements,  piles  of  old  fence  rails  and 
lumber  and  other  impedimenta,  which,  though  kindly 
Nature,  abhorring  the  unsightly  rubbish,  was  doing  her 
utmost  to  hide  it  all  beneath  a  luxuriant  growth  of 
docks,  milkweed,  and  nettles,  lent  an  air  of  disorder  and 
neglect  to  the  whole  surroundings.  The  porch,  or 
"stoop,"  about  the  summer  kitchen  was  set  out  with  an 
assortment  of  tubs  and  pails,  pots  and  pans,  partially 


174  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

filled  with  various  evil  looking  and  more  evil  smelling 
messes,  which  afforded  an  excellent  breeding  and  feed- 
ing place  for  flies,  mosquitoes,  and  other  unpleasant 
insects.  Adjoining  the  door  yard,  and  separated  from 
it  by  a  fence,  was  the  barn  yard,  a  spacious  quadrangle 
flanked  on  three  sides  by  barns,  stables,  and  sheds,  which 
were  large  and  finely  planned,  but  which  now  shared 
the  general  appearance  of  decrepitude.  The  fence, 
which  separated  one  yard  from  the  other,  was  broken 
down,  so  that  the  barn  yard  dwellers,  calves,  pigs,  and 
poultry,  wandered  at  will  in  search  of  amusement  or 
fodder  to  the  very  door  of  the  kitchen,  and  so  materially 
contributed  to  the  general  disorder,  discomfort,  and  dirt. 
AwTay  from  the  house,  however,  where  Nature  had  her 
own  way,  the  farm  stretched  field  after  field  on  each 
side  of  the  snake  fenced  lane  to  the  line  of  woods  in  the 
distance,  a  picture  of  rich  and  varied  beauty.  From  the 
rising  ground  on  which  the  house  was  situated  a  lovely 
vista  swept  right  from  the  kitchen  door  away  to  the  rem- 
nant of  the  forest  primeval  at  the  horizon.  On  every 
field  the  signs  of  coming  harvest  were  luxuriantly  visi- 
ble, the  hay  fields,  grey-green  with  blooming  "Timothy" 
and  purple  with  the  deep  nestling  clover,  the  fall  wheat 
green  and  yellowing  into  gold,  the  spring  wheat  a  lighter 
green  and  bursting  into  head,  the  oats  with  their  grace- 
ful tasselated  stalks,  the  turnip  field  ribboned  with  its 
lines  of  delicate  green  on  the  dark  soil  drills,  back  of 
all,  the  "slashing"  where  stumps,  blackened  with  fire, 
and  trunks  of  trees  piled  here  and  there  in  confusion, 
all  overgrown  with  weeds,  represented  the  transition 
stage  between  forest  and  harvest  field,  and  beyond  the 
slashing  the  dark  cool  masses  of  maple,  birch,  and  elm ; 
all  these  made  a  scene  of  such  varied  loveliness  as  to 
delight  the  soul  attuned  to  nature. 


A    DAY'S    WOK  K  175 

Upon  this  scene  of  vivid  contrasts,  on  one  side  house 
and  barn  and  yard,  and  on  the  other  the  rolling  fields 
and  massive  forest,  Cameron  stood  looking  in  the  early 
light  of  his  first  morning  on  the  farm,  with  mingled 
feelings  of  disgust  and  pleasure.  In  a  few  moments, 
however,  the  loveliness  of  the  far  view  caught  and  held 
his  eye  and  he  stood  as  in  a  dream.  The  gentle  rolling 
landscape,  with  its  rich  variety  of  greens  and  yellows 
and  greys,  that  swept  away  from  his  feet  to  the  dark 
masses  of  woods,  with  their  suggestions  of  cool  and 
shady  depth,  filled  his  soul  with  a  deep  joy  and  brought 
him  memory  of  how  the  "Glen  of  the  Cup  of  Gold" 
would  look  that  morning  in  the  dear  home-land  so  far 
away.  True,  there  were  neither  mountains  nor  moors, 
neither  lochs  nor  birch-clad  cliffs  here.  Nature,  in  her 
quieter  mood,  looked  up  at  him  from  these  sloping  fields 
and  bosky  woods  and  smiled  with  kindly  face,  and  that 
smile  of  hers  it  was  that  brought  to  Cameron's  mind 
the  sunny  Glen  of  the  Cup  of  Gold.  It  was  the  sweetest, 
kindliest  thing  his  eye  had  looked  on  since  he  had  left 
the  Glen. 

A  harsh  and  fretful  voice  broke  in  upon  his  dreaming. 

"Pa-a-w,  there  ain't  a  stick  of  wood  for  breakfast! 
There  was  none  last  night !  If  you  want  any  breakfast 
you'd  best  git  some  wood!" 

"All  right,  Mother !"  called  Haley  from  the  barn  yard, 
where  he  was  assisting  in  the  milking.  "I'm  a  comin'." 

Cameron  walked  to  meet  him. 

"Can  I  help?"  he  enquired. 

"Why,  of  course !"  shouted  Haley.  "Here,  Ma,  here's 
our  new  hand,  the  very  man  for  you." 

Mrs.  Haley,  who  had  retired  to  the  kitchen,  appeared 
at  the  door.  She  was  a  woman  past  middle  age,  unduly 
stout,  her  face  deep  lined  with  the  fret  of  a  multitude 


176 


of  cares,  and  hung  with  flabby  folds  of  skin,  browned 
with  the  sun  and  wind,  though  it  must  be  confessed  its 
color  was  determined  more  by  the  grease  and  grime  than 
by  the  tan  upon  it.  Yet,  in  spite  of  the  flabby  folds  of 
flesh,  in  spite  of  the  grime  and  grease,  there  was  still 
a  reminiscence  of  a  one-time  comeliness,  all  the  more 
pathetic  by  reason  of  its  all  too  obvious  desecration. 
Her  voice  was  harsh,  her  tone  fretful,  which  indeed  was 
hardly  to  be  wondered  at,  for  the  burden  of  her  life  was 
by  no  means  light,  and  the  cares  of  the  household,  within 
and  without,  were  neither  few  nor  trivial. 

For  a  moment  or  two  Mrs.  Haley  stood  in  silence 
studying  and  appraising  the  new  man.  The  result  did 
not  apparently  inspire  her  with  hope. 

"Come  on  now,  Pa,"  she  said,  "stop  yer  foolin'  and 
git  me  that  wood.  I  want  it  right  now.  You're  keepin' 
me  back  and  there's  an  awful  lot  to  do." 

"But  I  ain't  foolin',  Ma.  Mr.  Cameron  is  our  new 
hand.  He'll  knock  yeh  off  a  few  sticks  in  no  time."  So 
saying,  Haley  walked  off  Avith  his  pails  to  the  milking, 
leaving  his  wife  and  the  new  hand  facing  each  other, 
each  uncertain  as  to  the  next  move. 

"What  can  I  do,  Mrs.  Haley?"  enquired  Cameron 
politely. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Haley  wearily.  "I 
want  a  few  sticks  for  the  breakfast,  but  perhaps  I  can 
get  along  with  chips,  but  chips  don't  give  no  steady  fire." 

"If  you  would  show  me  just  what  to  do,"  said  Cam- 
eron with  some  hesitation,  "I  mean,  where  is  the  wood 
to  be  got?" 

"There,"  she  said,  in  a  surprised  tone,  pointing  to  a 
pile  of  long  logs  of  ash  and  maple.  "I  don't  want  much." 
She  gathered  her  apron  full  of  chips  and  turned  away, 
all  too  obviously  refusing  to  place  her  hope  of  wood  for 


A    DAY'S    WOK  K  177 

the  breakfast  fire  upon  the  efforts  of  the  new  man. 
Cameron  stood  looking  alternately  at  the  long,  hard,  dry 
logs  and  at  the  axe  which  he  had  picked  up  from  the 
bed  of  chips.  The  problem  of  how  to  produce  the  sticks 
necessary  to  breakfast  by  the  application  of  the  one  to 
the  other  was  one  for  which  he  could  see  no  solution.  He 
lifted  his  axe  and  brought  it  down  hard  upon  a  maple 
log.  The  result  was  a  slight  indentation  upon  the  log 
and  a  sharp  jar  from  the  axe  handle  that  ran  up  his  arm 
unpleasantly.  A  series  of  heavy  blows  produced  noth- 
ing more  than  a  corresponding  series  of  indentations 
in  the  tough  maple  log  and  of  jars  more  or  less  sharp 
and  painful  shooting  up  his  arms.  The  result  was  not 
encouraging,  but  it  flashed  upon  him  that  this  was  hig 
first  attempt  to  make  good  at  his  job  on  the  farm.  He 
threw  off  his  coat  and  went  at  his  work  with  energy; 
but  the  probability  of  breakfast,  so  far  as  it  depended 
upon  the  result  of  his  efforts,  seemed  to  be  growing  more 
and  more  remote. 

"Guess  ye  ain't  got  the  knack  of  it,"  said  a  voice,  deep, 
full,  and  mellow,  behind  him.  "That  axe  ain't  no  good 
for  choppin',  it's  a  splittin'  axe." 

Turning,  he  saw  a  girl  of  about  seventeen,  with  little 
grace  and  less  beauty,  but  strongly  and  stoutly  built, 
and  with  a  good-natured,  if  somewhat  stupid  and  heavy 
face.  Her  hair  was  dun  in  colour,  coarse  in  texture,  and 
done  up  loosely  and  carelessly  in  two  heavy  braids, 
arranged  about  her  head  in  such  a  manner  as  to  permit 
stray  wisps  of  hair  to  escape  about  her  face  and  neck. 
She  was  dressed  in  a  loose  pink  wrapper,  all  too  plainly 
of  home  manufacture,  gathered  in  at  the  waist,  and 
successfully  obliterating  any  lines  that  might  indicate 
the  existence  of  any  grace  of  form,  and  sadly  spotted 
and  stained  with  grease  and  dirt.  Her  red  stout  arma 


178  COEPOKAL    CAM  EBON 

ended  in  thick  and  redder  hands,  decked  with  an  array 
of  black-rimmed  nails.  At  his  first  glance,  sweeping 
her  "tout  ensemble,"  Cameron  was  conscious  of  a  feel- 
ing of  repulsion,  but  in  a  moment  this  feeling  passed 
and  he  was  surprised  to  find  himself  looking  into  two 
eyes  of  surprising  loveliness,  dark  blue,  well  shaped, 
and  of  such  liquid  depths  as  to  suggest  pools  of  water 
under  forest  trees. 

"They  use  the  saw  mostly,"  said  the  girl. 

"The  saw?"  echoed  Cameron. 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "They  saw  'em  through  and  then 
split  'em  with  the  axe." 

Cameron  picked  up  the  buck-saw  which  lay  against 
a  rickety  saw  horse.  Never  in  his  life  had  he  used 
such  an  instrument.  He  gazed  helplessly  at  his  com- 
panion. 

"How  do  you  use  this  thing?"  he  enquired. 

"Say!  are  you  funny,"  replied  the  girl,  flashing  a 
keen  glance  upon  him,  "or  don't  ye  know?" 

"Never  saw  it  done  in  my  life,"  said  Cameron 
solemnly. 

"Here !"  she  cried,  "let  me  show  you." 

She  seized  the  end  of  a  maple  log,  dragged  it  forward 
to  the  rickety  saw  horse,  set  it  in  position,  took  the  saw 
from  his  hands,  and  went  at  her  work  with  such  vigour 
that  in  less  than  a  minute  as  it  seemed  to  Cameron  she 
had  made  the  cut. 

"Give  me  that  axe !"  she  said  impatiently  to  Cameron, 
who  was  preparing  to  split  the  block. 

With  a  few  strong  and  skillful  blows  she  split  the 
straight-grained  block  of  wood  into  firewood,  gathered 
up  the  sticks  in  her  arms,  and,  with  a  giggle,  turned 
toward  the  house. 

"I  won't  charge  you  anything  for  that  lesson,"  she 


A    DAY'S    WORK  179 

said,  "but  you'll  have  to  hustle  if  you  git  that  wood 
split  'fore  breakfast." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Cameron,  grateful  that  none  of 
the  men  had  witnessed  the  instruction,  "I  shall  do  my 
best,"  and  for  the  next  half  hour,  with  little  skill,  but 
by  main  strength,  he  cut  off  a  number  of  blocks  from 
the  maple  log  and  proceeded  to  split  them.  But  in  this 
he  made  slow  progress.  From  the  kitchen  came  cheerful 
sounds  and  scents  of  cooking,  and  ever  and  anon  from 
the  door  waddled,  with  quite  surprising  celerity,  the 
unwieldy  bulk  of  the  mistress  of  the  house. 

"Now,  that's  jest  like  yer  Pa,"  Cameron  heard  her 
grumbling  to  her  daughter,  "bringin'  a  man  here  jest 
at  the  busy  season  who  don't  know  nothin'.  He's  peckin' 
away  at  'em  blocks  like  a  rooster  peckin'  grain." 

"He's  willin'  enough,  Ma,"  replied  the  girl,  "and  I 
guess  he'll  learn." 

"Learn!"  puffed  Mrs.  Haley  contemptuously.  "Did 
ye  ever  see  an  old-country  man  learn  to  handle  an  axe 
or  a  scythe  after  he  was  growed  up?  Jest  look  at  'im. 
Thank  goodness !  there's  Tim." 

"Here,  Tim!"  she  called  from  the  door,  "best  split 
some  o'  that  wood  'fore  breakfast." 

Tim  approached  Cameron  with  a  look  of  pity  on  his 
face. 

"Let  me  have  a  try,"  he  said.  Cameron  yielded  him 
the  axe.  The  boy  set  on  end  the  block  at  which  Cam- 
eron had  been  laboring  and,  with  a  swift  glancing  blow 
of  the  axe,  knocked  off  a  slab. 

"By  Jove!"  exclaimed  Cameron  admiringly,  "how  did 
you  do  that?" 

For  answer  the  boy  struck  again  the  same  glancing 
blow,  a  slab  started  and,  at  a  second  light  blow,  fell  to 
the  ground. 


180  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

"I  say!"  exclaimed  Cameron  again,  "I  must  learn 
that  trick." 

"Oh,  that's  easy!"  said  Tim,  knocking  the  slabs  off 
from  the  outside  of  the  block.  "This  heart's  goin'  to  be 
tough,  though;  got  a  knot  in  it,"  and  tough  it  proved, 
resisting  all  his  blows. 

"You're  a  tough  sucker,  now,  ain't  yeh?"  said  Tim, 
through  his  shut  teeth,  addressing  the  block.  We'll  try 
yeh  this  way."  He  laid  the  end  of  the  block  upon  a 
log  and  plied  the  axe  with  the  full  strength  of  his  slight 
body,  but  the  block  danced  upon  the  log  and  resisted 
all  his  blows. 

"Say !  you're  a  tough  one  now !"  he  said,  pausing  for 
breath. 

"Let  me  try  that,"  said  Cameron,  and,  putting  forth 
his  strength,  he  brought  the  axe  down  fairly  upon  the 
stick  with  such  force  that  the  instrument  shore  clean 
through  the  knot  and  sank  into  the  log  below. 

"Huh!  that's  a  cracker,"  said  Tim  with  ungrudging 
admiration.  "All  you  want  is  knack.  I'll  slab  it  off 
and  you  can  do  the  knots,"  he  added  with  a  grin. 

As  the  result  of  this  somewhat  unequal  division  of 
labor,  there  lay  in  half  an  hour  a  goodly  pile  of  fire 
wood  ready  for  the  cooking.  It  caught  Haley's  eye  as 
he  came  in  to  breakfast. 

"I  say,  Missus,  that's  a  bigger  pile  than  you've  had  for 
some  time.  Guess  my  new  man  ain't  so  slow  after 
all." 

"Huh!"  puffed  his  wife,  waddling  about  writh  great 
agility,  "it  was  Tim  that  done  it." 

"Now,  Ma,  ye  know  well  enough  he  helped  Tim,  and 
right  smart  too,"  said  the  daughter,  but  her  mother  was 
too  busy  getting  breakfast  ready  for  the  hungry  men 
who  were  now  performing  their  morning  ablutions  with 


A    DAY'S    WORK  181 

the  help  of  a  very  small  basin  set  upon  a  block  of  wood 
outside  the  kitchen  door  to  answer. 

There  were  two  men  employed  by  Haley,  one  the  son 
of  a  Scotch-Canadian  farmer,  Webster  by  name,  a  stout 
young  fellow,  but  slow  in  his  movements,  both  physical 
and  mental,  and  with  no  further  ambition  than  to  do  a 
fair  day's  work  for  a  fair  day's  pay.  He  was  employed 
by  the  month  during  the  busier  seasons  of  the  year.  The 
other,  Perkins,  was  Haley's  "steady"  man,  which  means 
that  he  was  employed  by  the  year  and  was  regarded 
almost  as  a  member  of  the  family.  Perkins  was  an 
Englishman  writh  fair  hair  and  blue  eyes,  of  fresh  com- 
plexion, burned  to  a  clear  red,  clean-cut  features,  and  a 
well  knit,  athletic  frame.  He  was,  as  Tim  declared,  a 
terror  to  work;  indeed,  his  fame  as  a  worker  was  well 
established  throughout  the  country  side.  To  these  men 
Cameron  was  introduced  as  being  from  Scotland  and 
as  being  anxious  to  be  initiated  into  the  mysteries  of 
Canadian  farm  life. 

"Glad  to  see  you !"  said  Perkins,  shaking  him  heartily 
by  the  hand.  "We'll  make  a  farmer  of  you,  won't  we, 
Tim?  From  Scotland,  eh?  Pretty  fine  country,  I  hear 
— to  leave,"  he  added,  with  a  grin  at  his  own  humour. 
Though  his  manner  Avas  pleasant  enough,  Cameron  be- 
came conscious  of  a  feeling  of  aversion,  which  he  recog- 
nised at  once  as  being  as  unreasonable  as  it  was  inex- 
plicable. He  set  it  down  as  a  reflection  of  Tim's  mental 
attitude  toward  the  hired  man.  Perkins  seized  the  tin 
basin,  dipped  some  water  from  the  rain  barrel  standing 
near,  and,  setting  it  down  before  Cameron,  said: 

"Here,  pile  in,  Scotty.  Do  they  wash  in  your  coun- 
try?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Cameron,  "they  are  rather  strong  on 
that,"  wondering  at  the  same  time  how  the  operation 


182  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

could,  be  performed,  successfully  with  such  a  moderate 
supply  of  water.  After  using  a  second  and  third  supply, 
however,  he  turned,  with  hands  and  face  dripping,  and 
looked  about  for  a  towel.  Perkins  handed  him  a  long 

^ 

roller  towel,  black  with  dirt  and  stiff  with  grease.  Had 
his  life  depended  upon  it  Cameron  could  not  have  avoided 
a  shuddering  hesitation  as  he  took  the  filthy  cloth  pre- 
paratory to  applying  it  to  his  face. 

"  'Twon't  hurt  you,"  laughed  Perkins.  "Wash  day 
ain't  till  next  week,  you  know,  and  this  is  only  Wednes- 
day." Suddenly  the  towel  was  snatched  from  Cameron's 
hands. 

"Gimme  that  towel!"  It  was  the  girl,  with  face 
aflame  and  eyes  emitting  blue  fire.  "Here,  Mr.  Cameron, 
take  this,"  she  said. 

"Great  Jerusalem,  Mandy!  You  ain't  goin'  to  bring 
on  a  clean  towel  the  middle  of  the  week?"  said  Perkins 
in  mock  dismay.  "Guess  it's  for  Mr.  Cameron,"  he  con- 
tinued with  another  laugh. 

"We  give  clean  towels  to  them  that  knows  how  to  use 
'em,"  said  Mandy,  whisking  wrathfully  into  the  house. 

"Say,  Scotty !"  said  Perkins,  in  a  loud  bantering  tone, 
"guess  you're  makin'  a  mash  on  Mandy  all  right." 

"I  don't  know  exactly  what  you  mean,"  said  Cameron 
with  a  quick  rising  of  wrath,  "but  I  do  know  that  you 
are  making  a  beastly  cad  of  yourself." 

"Oh,  don't  get  wrathy,  Scotty!"  laughed  Perkins, 
"we're  just  having  a  little  fun.  Here's  the  comb !"  But 
Cameron  declined  the  article,  which,  from  its  appear- 
ance, seemed  to  be  intended  for  family  use,  and,  proceed- 
ing to  his  room,  completed  his  toilet  there. 

The  breakfast  was  laid  in  the  kitchen  proper,  a 
spacious  and  comfortable  room,  which  served  as  living 
room  for  the  household.  The  table  was  laden  with  a 


ADAY'SWOKK  183 

variety  and.  abundance  of  food  that  worthily  sustained 
the  reputation  of  the  Haleys  of  being  "good  feeders." 
At  one  end  of  the  table  a  large  plate  was  heaped  high 
with  slices  of  fat  pork,  and  here  and  there  disposed 
along  its  length  were  dishes  of  fried  potatoes,  huge 
piles  of  bread,  hot  biscuits,  plates  of  butter,  pies  of  dif- 
ferent kinds,  maple  syrup,  and  apple  sauce.  It  was  a 
breakfast  fit  for  a  lord,  and  Cameron  sat  down  with 
a  pleasurable  anticipation  induced  by  his  early  rising 
and  his  half  hour's  experience  in  the  fresh  morning  air 
with  the  wood  pile.  A  closer  inspection,  however,  of 
the  dishes  somewhat  damped  the  pleasure  of  his  antici- 
pation. The  food  was  good,  abundant,  and  well  cooked, 
but  everywhere  there  was  an  utter  absence  of  cleanli- 
ness. The  plates  were  greasy,  the  forks  and  knives  bore 
the  all  too  evident  remains  of  former  meals,  and  every- 
where were  flies.  In  hundreds  they  swarmed  upon  the 
food,  while,  drowned  in  the  gravy,  cooked  in  the  pota- 
toes, overwhelmed  in  the  maple  syrup,  buried  in  the 
butter,  their  ghastly  carcasses  were  to  be  seen.  With 
apparent  unconcern  the  men  brushed  aside  the  living 
and  picked  out  and  set  aside  the  remains  of  the  dead, 
the  unhappy  victims  of  .their  own  greed  or  temerity, 
and  went  on  calmly  and  swiftly  with  their  business. 
Not  a  word  was  spoken  except  by  Cameron  himself,  wrho, 
constrained  by  what  he  considered  to  be  the  ordinary 
decencies  of  society,  made  an  effort  to  keep  up  a  con- 
versation with  Mr.  Haley  at  the  head  of  the  table  and 
occasionally  ventured  a  remark  to  his  wife,  who,  with 
Handy,  was  acting  as  a  waiter  upon  the  hungry  men. 
But  conversation  is  a  social  exercise,  and  Cameron  found 
himself  compelled  to  abandon  his  well  meant  but  soli- 
tary efforts  at  maintaining  the  conventions  of  the  break- 
fast table.  There  was  neither  time  nor  occasion  for 


184  COEPOKAL   CAMEEON 

conversation.  The  business  of  the  hour  was  something 
quite  other,  namely,  that  of  devouring  as  large  a  portion 
of  the  food  set  before  them  as  was  possible  within  the 
limits  of  time  assigned  for  the  meal.  Indeed,  the  ele- 
ment of  time  seemed  to  be  one  of  very  considerable  im- 
portance, as  Cameron  discovered,  for  he  was  still  picking 
his  way  gingerly  and  carefully  through  his  pork  and 
potatoes  by  the  time  that  Perkins,  having  completed  a 
second  course  consisting  of  pie  and  maple  syrup,  had 
arrived  at  the  final  course  of  bread  and  butter  and  apple 
sauce. 

"Circulate  the  butter!"  he  demanded  of  the  table  in 
general.  He  took  the  plate  from  Cameron's  hand,  looked 
at  it  narrowly  for  a  moment,  then  with  thumb  and  fore- 
finger drew  from  the  butter  with  great  deliberation  a 
long  dun-coloured  hair. 

"Say!"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  but  perfectly  audible, 
"they  forgot  to  comb  it  this  morning." 

Cameron  was  filled  with  unspeakable  disgust,  but, 
glancing  at  Mrs.  Haley's  face,  he  saw  to  his  relief  that 
both  the  action  and  the  remark  had  been  unnoticed  by 
her.  But  on  Mandy's  face  he  saw  the  red  ensign  of 
shame  and  wrath,  and  in  spite  of  himself  he  felt  his 
aversion  towards  the  ever-smiling  hired  man  deepen  into 
rage. 

Finding  himself  distanced  in  his  progress  through 
the  various  courses  at  breakfast,  Cameron  determined 
to  miss  the  intermediate  course  of  pie  and  maple  syrup 
and,  that  he  might  finish  on  more  even  terms  with  the 
others,  proceeded  with  bread  and  butter  and  apple  sauce. 

"Don't  yeh  hurry,"  said  Mrs.  Haley  with  hearty  hos- 
pitality. "Eat  plenty,  there's  lots  to  spare.  Here,  have 
some  apple  sauce."  She  caught  up  the  bowl  which  held 
this  most  delicious  article  of  food. 


A    DAY'S    WORK  185 

"Where's  the  spoon?"  she  said,  glancing  round  the 
table.  There  was  none  immediately  available.  "Here!" 
she  cried,  "this'll  do."  She  snatched  a  large  spoon  from 
the  pitcher  of  thick  cream,  held  it  dripping  for  a  moment 
in  obvious  uncertainty,  then  with  sudden  decision  she 
cried  "Never  mind,"  and  with  swift  but  effective  appli- 
cation of  lip  and  tongue  she  cleansed  the  spoon  of  the 
dripping  cream,  and,  stirring  the  apple  sauce  vigour- 
ously,  passed  the  bowl  to  Cameron.  For  a  single  mo- 
ment Cameron  held  the  bowl,  uncertain  whether  to  re- 
fuse or  not,  but  before  he  could  make  up  his  mind  Mandy 
caught  it  from  his  hands. 

"Oh,  Ma!"  she  exclaimed  in  a  horrified  tone. 

"What's  the  matter?"  exclaimed  her  mother.  "A  little 
cream  won't  hurt." 

But  Mandy  set  the  bowl  at  the  far  end  of  the  table 
and  passed  another  to  Cameron,  who  accepted  it  with 
resolute  determination  and  continued  his  breakfast. 

But  Perkins,  followed  by  Webster  and  Tim,  rose  from 
the  table  and  passed  out  into  the  yard,  whence  his  voice 
could  be  heard  in  explosions  of  laughter.  Cameron  in 
the  meantime  was  making  heroic  attempts  to  cover  up 
the  sound  by  loud-voiced  conversation  with  Haley,  and, 
rendered  desperate  by  the  exigencies  of  the  situation, 
went  so  far  as  to  venture  a  word  of  praise  to  Mrs.  Haley 
upon  the  excellence  and  abundance  of  her  cooking. 

"She  ain't  got  no  chance,"  said  her  husband.  "She's 
got  too  much  to  do  and  it's  awful  hard  to  get  help.  Of 
course,  there's  Mandy." 

"Of  course,  there's  Mandy,"  echoed  his  wife.  "I  guess 
you'd  just  better  say,  'There's  Mandy.'  She's  the  whole 
thing  is  Mandy.  What  I'd  do  without  her  goodness  only 
knows." 

But   Mandy   was   no   longer   present    to   enjoy   her 


186  CORPOKAL    CAMERON 

mother's  enconiums.  Her  voice  could  be  heard  in  the 
yard  making  fierce  response  to  Perkins'  jesting  remarks. 
As  Cameron  was  passing  out  from  the  kitchen  he  heard 
her  bitter  declaration:  "I  don't  care,  it  was  real  mean 
of  you,  and  I'll  pay  you  for  it  yet,  Mr.  Perkins — before 
a  stranger,  too."  Mandy's  voice  suggested  tears. 

"Oh,  pshaw,  Mandy!"  remonstrated  Perkins,  "it  was 
all  a  joke,  and  who  cares  for  him  anyway,  unless  it's 
yourself?" 

But  Mandy,  catching  sight  of  Cameron,  fled  with  fiery 
face  behind  the  kitchen,  leaving  Perkins  gazing  after 
her  with  an  apologetic  grin  upon  his  countenance. 

"She's  rather  hot  under  the  collar,"  he  confided  to 
Cameron,  "but  she  needn't  get  so,  I  didn't  mean  nothin'." 

Cameron  ignored  him.  He  was  conscious  mainly  of 
a  resolute  determination  that  at  all  costs  he  must  not 
yield  to  his  almost  uncontrollable  desire  to  wipe  off  the 
apologetic  smile  with  a  well  directed  blow.  Mr.  Den- 
man's  parting  advice  was  in  his  mind  and  he  was  devot- 
ing all  his  powers  to  the  business  of  adjusting  himself 
to  his  present  environment.  But  to  his  fastidious  nature 
the  experiences  of  the  morning  made  it  somewhat  doubt- 
ful if  he  should  be  able  to  carry  out  the  policy  of  adjust- 
ment to  the  extreme  of  schooling  himself  to  bear  with 
equal  mind  the  daily  contact  with  the  dirt  and  disorder 
which  held  so  large  a  place  in  the  domestic  economy  of 
the  Haley  household.  One  thing  he  was  firmly  resolved 
upon,  he  would  henceforth  perform  his  toilet  in  his  own 
room,  and  thereby  save  himself  the  horror  of  the  family 
roller  towel  and  the  family  comb. 

Breakfast  over,  the  men  stood  waiting  orders  for  the 
day. 

"We'll  have  to  crowd  them  turnips  through,  Tim," 
said  his  father,  who  seemed  to  avoid  as  far  as  possible 


A    DAY'S    WOE  K  187 

giving  direct  orders  to  his  men.  "Next  week  we'll  have 
to  git  at  the  hay."  So  to  the  turnip  field  they  went. 

It  is  one  of  the  many  limitations  of  a  city-bred  boy 
that  he  knows  nothing  of  the  life  history  and  the  culture 
of  the  things  that  grow  upon  a  farm.  Apples  and  pota- 
toes he  recognises  when  they  appear  as  articles  of  diet 
upon  the  table;  oats  and  wheat  he  vaguely  associates 
in  some  mysterious  and  remote  way  with  porridge  and 
bread,  but  whether  potatoes  grow  on  trees  or  oats  in 
pods  he  has  no  certain  knowledge.  Blessed  is  the  coun- 
try boy  for  many  reasons,  but  for  none  more  than  this, 
that  the  world  of  living  and  growing  things,  animate 
and  inanimate,  is  one  which  he  has  explored  and  which 
he  intimately  knows;  and  blessed  is  the  city  boy  for 
whom  his  wise  parents  provide  means  of  acquaintance 
with  this  wonder  workshop  of  old  mother  Nature,  God's 
own  open  country. 

Turnip-hoeing  is  an  art,  a  fine  art,  demanding  all  the 
talents  of  high  genius,  a  true  eye,  a  sure  hand,  a  sensi- 
tive conscience,  industry,  courage,  endurance,  and  pride 
in  achievement.  These  and  other  gifts  are  necessary  to 
high  success.  Not  to  every  man  is  it  given  to  become 
a  turnip-hoer  in  the  truest  sense  of  that  word.  The  art 
is  achieved  only  after  long  and  patient  devotion,  and, 
indeed,  many  never  attain  high  excellence.  Of  course, 
therefore,  there  are  grades  of  artists  in  this  as  in  other 
departments.  There  are  turnip-hoers  and  turnip-hoers, 
just  as  there  are  painters  and  painters.  It  was  Tim's 
ambition  to  be  the  first  turnip-hoer  of  his  district,  and 
toward  this  end  he  had  striven  both  last  season  and  this 
with  a  devotion  that  deserved,  if  it  did  not  achieve,  suc- 
cess. Quietly  he  had  been  patterning  himself  upon  that 
master  artist,  Perkins,  who  for  some  years  had  easily 
held  the  championship  for  the  district.  Keenly  Tim 


188 


had.  been  observing  Perkins'  excellencies  and  also  his 
defects;  secretly  he  had  been  developing  a  style  of  his 
own,  and,  all  unnoted,  he  had  tested  his  speed  by  that  of 
Perkins  by  adopting  the  method  of  lazily  loafing  along 
and  then  catching  up  by  a  few  minutes  of  whirlwind 
work.  Tim  felt  in  his  soul  the  day  of  battle  could  not 
be  delayed  past  this  season;  indeed,  it  might  come  any 
day.  The  very  thought  of  it  made  his  slight  body  quiver 
and  his  heart  beat  so  quickly  as  almost  to  choke  him. 

To  the  turnip  field  hied  Haley's  men,  Perkins  and 
Webster  leading  the  way,  Tim  and  Cameron  bringing 
up  the  rear. 

"You  promised  to  show  me  how  to  do  it,  Tim/'  said 
Cameron.  "Remember  I  shall  be  very  slow." 

"Oh,  shucks!"  replied  Tim,  "turnip-hoeing  is  as  easy 
as  rollin'  off  a  log  if  yeh  know  how  to  do  it." 

"Exactly !"  cried  Cameron,  "but  that  is  what  I  don't. 
You  might  give  me  some  pointers." 

'"Well,  you  must  be  able  to  hit  what  yeh  aim  at." 

"Ah!  that  means  a  good  eye  and  steady  hand,"  said 
Cameron.  "Well,  I  can  do  billiards  some  and  golf. 
What  else?'* 

"Well,  you  mustn't  be  too  careful,  slash  right  in  and 
don't  give  a  rip." 

"Ah!  nerve,  eh!"  said  Cameron.  "Well,  I  have  done 
some  Rugby  in  my  day — I  know  something  of  that. 
What  else?  This  sounds  good." 

"Then  you've  got  to  leave  only  one  turnip  in  one  place 
and  not  a  weed ;  and  you  mustn't  leave  any  blanks.  Dad 
gets  hot  over  that." 

"Indeed,  one  turnip  in  each  place  and  not  a  weed," 
echoed  Cameron.  "Say!  this  business  grows  interest- 
ing. No  blanks!  Anything  else?"  he  demanded. 

"No,  I  guess  not,  only  if  yeh  ever  git  into  a  race  ye've 


ADAY'SWOKK  189 

got  to  keep  goin'  after  you're  clear  tuckered  out  and 
never  let  on.  You  see  the  other  chap  may  be  feelin' 
worse  than  you." 

"By  Jove,  Tim!  you're  a  born  general!"  exclaimed 
Cameron.  "You  will  go  some  distance  if  you  keep  on  in 
that  line.  Now  as  to  racing  let  me  venture  a  word,  for 
I  have  done  a  little  in  my  time.  Don't  spurt  too  soon." 

"Eh!"  said  Tim,  all  eagerness. 

"Don't  get  into  your  racing  stride  too  early  in  the 
day,  especially  if  you  are  up  against  a  stronger  man. 
.Wait  till  you  know  you  can  stay  till  the  end  and  then 
put  your  best  licks  in  at  the  finish." 

Tim  pondered. 

"By  Jimminy !  you're  right,"  he  cried,  a  glad  light  in 
his  eye,  and  a  touch  of  colour  in  his  pale  cheek,  and  Cam- 
eron knew  he  was  studying  war. 

The  turnip  field,  let  it  be  said  for  the  enlightening  of 
the  benighted  and  unfortunate  city-bred  folk,  is  laid  out 
in  a  series  of  drills,  a  drill  being  a  long  ridge  of  earth 
some  six  inches  in  height,  some  eight  inches  broad  on 
the  top  and  twelve  at  the  base.  Upon  each  drill  the  seed 
has  been  sown  in  one  continuous  line  from  end  to  end 
of  the  field.  When  this  seed  has  grown  each  drill  will 
discover  a  line  of  delicate  .green,  this  line  being  nothing 
less  than  a  compact  growth  of  young  turnip  plants  with 
weeds  more  or  less  thickly  interspersed.  The  operation 
of  hoeing  consists  in  the  eliminating  of  the  weeds  and 
the  superfluous  turnip  plants  in  order  that  single  plants, 
free  from  weeds,  may  be  left  some  eight  inches  apart 
in  unbroken  line,  extending  the  whole  length  of  the  drill. 
The  artistic  hoer,  however,  is  not  content  with  this. 
His  artistic  soul  demands  not  only  that  single  plants 
should  stand  in  unbroken  row  from  end  to  end  along 
the  drill  top,  but  that  the  drill  itself  should  be  pared 


190  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

down  on  each  side  to  the  likeness  of  a  house  roof  with 
a  perfectly  even  ridge. 

"Ever  hoe  turnips?"  enquired  Perkins. 

"Never,"  said  Cameron,  "and  I  am  afraid  I  won't 
make  much  of  a  fist  at  it." 

"Well,  you've  come  to  a  good  place  to  learn,  eh,  Tim ! 
We'll  show  him,  won't  we?" 

Tim  made  no  reply,  but  simply  handed  Cameron  a 
hoe  and  picked  up  his  own. 

"Now,  show  me,  Tim,"  said  Cameron  in  a  low  voice, 
as  Perkins  and  Webster  set  off  on  their  drills. 

"This  is  how  you  do  it,"  replied  Tim.  "Click-click," 
forward  and  back  went  Tim's  sharp  shining  instrument, 
leaving  a  single  plant  standing  shyly  alone  where  .had 
boldly  bunched  a  score  or  more  a  moment  before. 
"Click-click-click,"  and  the  flat-topped  drill  stood  free 
of  weeds  and  superfluous  turnip  plants  and  trimmed  to 
its  proper  roof-like  appearance. 

"I  say !"  exclaimed  Cameron,  "this  is  high  art.  I  shall 
never  reach  your  class,  though,  Tim." 

"Oh,  shucks!"  said  Tim,  "slash  in,  don't  be  afraid." 
Cameron  slashed  in.  "Click-click,"  "Click-click-click," 
when  lo !  a  long  blank  space  of  drill  looked  up  reproach- 
fully at  him. 

"Oh,  Tim !  look  at  this  mess,"  he  said  in  disgust. 

"Never  mind!"  said  Tim,  "let  her  rip.  Better  stick 
one  in  though.  Blanks  look  bad  at  the  end  of  the  drill." 
So  saying,  he  made  a  hole  in  Cameron's  drill  and  with 
his  hoe  dug  up  a  bunch  of  plants  from  another  drill  and 
patted  them  firmly  into  place,  and,  weeding  out  the  un- 
necessary plants,  left  a  single  turnip  in  its  proper  place. 

"Oh,  come,  that  isn't  so  bad,"  said  Cameron.  "We  can 
always  fill  up  the  blanks." 

"Yes,  but  it  takes  time,"  replied  Tim,  evidently  with 


A'   DAY'S   WORK  191 

the  racing  fever  in  his  blood.  Patiently  Tim  schooled  his 
pupil  throughout  the  forenoon,  and  before  the  dinner 
hour  had  come  Cameron  was  making  what  to  Tim  ap- 
peared satisfactory  progress.  It  was  greatly  in  Cam- 
eron's favor  that  he  possessed  a  trained  and  true  eye  and 
a  steady  hand  and  that  he  was  quick  in  all  his  move- 
ments. 

"You're  doin'  splendid,"  cried  Tim,  full  of  admira- 
tion. 

"I  say,  Scotty !"  said  Perkins,  coming  up  and  casting 
a  critical  eye  along  Cameron's  last  drill,  "you're  going 
to  make  a  turnip-hoer  all  right" 

"I've  got  a  good  teacher,  you  see,"  cried  Cameron. 

"You  bet  you  have,"  said  Perkins.  "I  taught  Tim 
myself,  and  in  two  or  three  years  he'll  be  almost  as  good 
as  I  am,  eh,  Tim !" 

"Huh !"  grunted  Tim,  contemptuously,  :but  let  it  go 
at  that. 

"Perhaps  you  think  you're  that  now,  eh,  Tim?"  said 
Perkins,  seizing  the  boy  by  the  back  of  the  neck  and 
rubbing  his  hand  over  his  hair  in  a  manner  perfectly 
maddening.  "Don't  you  get  too  perky,  young  feller,  or 
I'll  hang  your  shirt  on  the  fence  before  the  day's  done." 

Tim  wriggled  out  of  his  grasp  and  kept  silent.  He 
was  not  yet  ready  with  his  challenge.  All  through  the 
afternoon  he  stayed  behind  with  Cameron,  allowing  the 
other  two  to  help  them  out  at  the  end  of  each  drill,  but 
as  the  day  wore  on  there  was  less  and  less  need  of  assist- 
ance for  Cameron,  for  he  was  making  rapid  progress 
with  his  work  and  Tim  was  able  to  do,  not  only  his  own 
drill,  but  almost  half  of  Cameron's  as  well.  By  supper 
time  Cameron  was  thoroughly  done  out.  Never  had  a 
day  seemed  so  long,  never  had  he  known  that  he  pos- 
sessed so  many  muscles  in  his  back.  The  continuous 


192  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

stooping  and  the  steady  click-click  of  the  hoe,  together 
with  the  unceasing  strain  of  hand  and  eye,  and  all  this 
under  the  hot  burning  rays  of  a  June  sun,  so  exhausted 
his  vitality  that  when  the  cow  bell  rang  for  supper  it 
seemed  to  him  a  sound  more  delightful  than  the  strains 
of  a  Richter  orchestra  in  a  Beethoven  symphony. 

On  the  way  back  to  the  field  after  supper  Cameron 
observed  that  Tim  was  in  a  state  of  suppressed  excite- 
ment and  it  dawned  upon  him  that  the  hour  of  his  chal- 
lenge of  Perkins'  supremacy  as  a  turnip-hoer  was  at 
hand. 

"I  say,  Tim,  boy!"  he  said  earnestly,  "listen  to  me. 
You  are  going  to  get  after  Perkins  this  evening,  eh?" 

"How  did  you  know?"  said  Tim,  in  surprise. 

"Never  mind!  Now  listen  to  me;  I  have  raced  myself 
some  and  I  have  trained  men  to  race.  Are  you  not  too 
tired  with  your  day's  work?" 

"Tired !  Not  a  bit/'  said  the  gallant  little  soul  scorn- 
fully. 

"Well,  all  right.  It's  nice  and  cool  and  you  can't 
hurt  yourself  much.  Now,  how  many  drills  do  you  do 
after  supper  as  a  rule?" 

"Down  and  up  twice,"  said  Tim. 

"How  many  drills  can  you  do  at  your  top  speed,  your 
very  top  speed,  remember?" 

"About  two  drills,  I  guess,"  replied  Tim,  after  a  mo- 
ment's thought. 

"Now,  listen  to  me !"  said  Cameron  impressively.  "Go 
quietly  for  two  and  a  half  drills,  then  let  yourself  out 
and  go  your  best.  And,  listen!  I  have  been  watching 
you  this  afternoon.  You  have  easily  done  once  and  a 
half  what  Perkins  has  done  and  you  are  going  to  lick 
him  out  of  his  boots." 

Tim  gulped  a  moment  or  two,  looked  at  his  friend 


A   DAY'S   WORK  193 

with  glistening  eyes,  but  said  not  a  word.  For  the  first 
two  and  a  half  drills  Cameron  exerted  to  the  highest 
degree  his  conversational  powers  with  the  two-fold  pur- 
pose of  holding  back  Perkins  and  Webster  and  also  of 
so  occupying  Tim's  mind  that  he  might  forget  for  a  time 
the  approaching  conflict,  the  strain  of  waiting  for  which 
he  knew  would  be  exhausting  for  the  lad.  But  when  the 
middle  of  the  second  last  drill  had  been  reached,  Tim 
began  unconsciously  to  quicken  his  speed. 

"I  say,  Tim,"  called  Cameron,  "come  here!  Am  I 
getting  these  spaces  too  wide?"  Tim  came  over  to  his 
side.  "Now,  Tim,"  said  Cameron,  in  a  low  voice,  "wait  a 
little  longer;  you  can  never  wear  him  out.  Your  only 
chance  is  in  speed.  Wait  till  the  last  drill." 

But  Tim  was  not  to  be  held  back.  Back  he  went  to 
his  place  and  with  a  rush  brought  his  drill  up  even  with 
Webster,  passed  him,  and  in  a  few  moments  like  a  whirl- 
wind passed  Perkins  and  took  the  lead. 

"Hello,  Timmy !  where  are  you  going?"  asked  Perkins, 
in  surprise. 

"Home,"  said  Tim  proudly,  "and  I'll  tell  'em  you're 
comin'." 

"All  right,  Timmy,  my  son!"  replied  Perkins  with  a 
laugh,  "tell  them  you  won't  need  no  hot  bath ;  I'm  after 
you." 

"Click-click,"  "Click-click-click"  was  Tim's  only  an- 
swer. It  was  a  distinct  challenge,  and,  while  not  openly 
breaking  into  racing  speed,  Perkins  accepted  it. 

For  some  minutes  Webster  quickened  his  pace  in  an 
attempt  to  follow  the  leaders,  but  soon  gave  it  up  and 
fell  back  to  help  Cameron  up  with  his  drill,  remarking, 
"I  ain't  no  blamed  fool.  I  ain't  going  to  bust  myself 
for  any  man.  They're  racing,  not  me." 

"Will  Tim  win?"  enquired  Cameron. 


194  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

"Naw !  Not  this  year !  Why,  Perkins  is  the  best  man 
in  the  whole  country  at  turnips.  He  took  the  Agricul- 
tural Society's  prize  two  years  ago." 

"I  believe  Tim  will  beat  him,"  said  Cameron  confi- 
dently, with  his  eyes  upon  the  two  in  front. 

"Beat  nothing!"  said  Webster.  "You  just  wait  a  bit, 
Perkins  isn't  letting  himself  out  yet." 

In  a  short  time  Tim  finished  his  drill  some  distance 
ahead,  and  then,  though  it  w^as  quitting  time,  without  a 
pause  he  swung  into  the  next. 

"Hello,  Timmy !"  cried  Perkins  good-naturedly,  "going 
to  work  all  night,  eh?  Well,  I'll  just  take  a  whirl  out 
of  you,"  and  for  the  first  time  he  frankly  threw  himself 
into  his  racing  gait. 

"Good  boy,  Tim!"  called  out  Cameron,  as  Tim  bore 
down  upon  them,  still  in  the  lead  and  going  like  a  small 
steam  engine.  "You're  all  right  and  going  easy.  Don't 
worry !" 

But  Perkins,  putting  on  a  great  spurt,  drew  up  within 
a  hoe-handle  length  of  Tim  and  there  held  his  place. 

"All  right,  Tim,  my  boy,  you  can  hold  him,"  cried 
Cameron,  as  the  racers  came  down  upon  him. 

"He  can,  eh?"  replied  Perkins.  "I'll  show  him  and 
you,"  and  with  an  accession  of  speed  he  drew  up  on  a 
level  with  Tim. 

"Ah,  ha !  Timmy,  my  boy !  we've  got  you  where  we  want 
you,  I  guess,"  he  exulted,  and,  with  a  whoop  and  still 
increasing  his  speed,  he  drew  past  the  boy. 

But  Cameron,  who  was  narrowly  observing  the  com- 
batants and  their  work,  called  out  again  : 

"Don't  worry,  Tim,  you're  doing  nice  clean  work  and 
doing  it  easily."  The  inference  was  obvious,  and  Per- 
kins, who  had  been  slashing  wildly  and  leaving  many 
blanks  and  weeds  behind  him  where  neither  blanks  nor 


A    DAY'S    WORK  195 

weeds  should  be,  steadied  down  somewhat,  and,  taking 
more  pains  with  his  work,  began  to  lose  ground,  while 
Tim,  whose  work  was  without  flaw,  moved  again  to  the 
front  place.  There  remained  half  a  drill  to  be  done  and 
the  issue  was  still  uncertain.  With  half  the  length  of  a 
hoe  handle  between  them  the  two  clicked  along  at  a 
furious  pace.  Tim's  hat  had  fallen  off.  His  face  showed 
white  and  his  breath  was  coming  fast,  but  there  was  no 
slackening  of  speed,  and  the  cleanness  and  ease  with 
which  he  was  doing  his  work  showed  that  there  was  still 
some  reserve  in  him.  They  were  approaching  the  last 
quarter  when,  with  a  yell,  Perkins  threw  himself  again 
with  a  wild  recklessness  into  his  work,  and  again  he 
gained  upon  Tim  and  passed  him. 

"Steady,  Tim!"  cried  Cameron,  who,  with  Webster, 
had  given  up  their  own  work,  it  being,  as  the  latter 
remarked,  "quitting  time  anyway,"  and  were  following 
up  the  racers.  "Don't  spoil  your  work,  Tim !"  continued 
Cameron,  "don't  worry." 

His  words  caught  the  boy  at  a  critical  moment,  for 
Perkins'  yell  and  his  fresh  exhibition  of  speed  had  shaken 
the  lad's  nerve.  But  Cameron's  voice  steadied  him,  and, 
quickly  responding,  Tim  settled  down  again  into  his  old 
style,  while  Perkins  was  still  in  the  lead,  but  slashing 
wildly. 

"Fine  work,  Tim,"  said  Cameron  quietly,  "and  you 
can  do  better  yet."  For  a  few  paces  he  walked  behind 
the  boy,  steadying  him  now  and  then  with  a  quiet  word, 
then,  recognising  that  the  crisis  of  the  struggle  was  at 
hand,  and  believing  that  the  boy  had  still  some  reserve 
of  speed  and  strength,  he  began  to  call  on  him. 

"Come  on,  Tim !  Quicker,  quicker ;  come  on,  boy,  you 
can  do  better !"  His  words,  and  his  tone  more  than  his 
words,  were  like  a  spur  to  the  boy.  From  some  secret 


196  COEPOEAL    CAMEEON 

source  of  supply  he  called  up  an  unsuspected  reserve  of 
strength  and  speed  and,  still  keeping  up  his  clean  cut- 
ting finished  style,  foot  by  foot  he  drew  away  from  Per- 
kins, who  followed  in  the  rear,  slashing  more  wildly  than 
ever.  The  race  was  practically  won.  Tim  was  well  in 
the  lead,  and  apparently  gaining  speed  with  every  click 
of  his  hoe. 

"Here,  you  fellers,  what  are  yeh  hashin'  them  turnips 
for?"  It  was  Haley's  voice,  who,  unperceived,  had  come 
into  the  field.  Tim's  reply  was  a  letting  out  of  his  last 
ounce  of  strength  in  a  perfect  fury  of  endeavour. 

"There — ain't — no — hashin' — on  this — drill — Dad  I" 
he  panted. 

The  sudden  demand  for  careful  work,  however,  at 
once  lowered  Perkins'  rate  of  speed.  He  fell  rapidly 
behind  and,  after  a  few  moments  of  further  struggle, 
threw  down  his  hoe  with  a  whoop  and  called  out,  "Quit- 
ting time,  I  guess,"  and,  striding  after  Tim,  he  caught 
him  by  the  arms  and  swung  him  round  clear  off  the 
ground. 

"Here,  let  me  go !"  gasped  the  boy,  kicking,  squirming, 
and  trying  to  strike  his  antagonist  with  his  hoe. 

"Let  the  boy  go!"  said  Cameron.  The  tone  in  his 
voice  arrested  Perkins*  attention. 

"What's  your  business?"  he  cried,  with  an  oath,  drop- 
ping the  boy  and  turning  fiercely  upon  Cameron. 

"Oh,  nothing  very  much,  except  that  Tim's  my  candi- 
date in  this  race  and  he  mustn't  be  interfered  with," 
replied  Cameron  in  a  voice  still  quiet  and  with  a  pleas- 
ant smile. 

Perkins  was  white  and  panting;  in  a  moment  more  he 
would  have  hurled  himself  at  the  man  who  stood  smiling 
quietly  in  his  face.  At  this  critical  moment  Haley  in- 
terposed. 


A    DAY'S    WORK  197 

"What's  the  row,  boys?"  he  enquired,  recognising  that 
something  serious  was  on. 

"We  have  been  having  a  little  excitement,  Sir,  in  the 
form  of  a  race,"  replied  Cameron,  "and  I've  been  back- 
ing Tim." 

"Looks  as  if  you've  got  him  wound  up  so's  he  can't 
stop,"  replied  Haley,  pointing  to  the  boy,  who  was  still 
going  at  racing  pace  and  was  just  finishing  his  drill. 
"Oh,  well,  a  boy's  a  boy  and  you've  got  to  humour  him 
now  and  then,"  continued  Haley,  making  conversation 
with  diplomatic  skill.  Then  turning  to  Perkins,  as  if 
dismissing  a  trivial  subject,  he  added,  "Looks  to  me  as 
if  that  hay  in  the  lower  meadow  is  pretty  nigh  fit  to 
cut.  Guess  we'd  better  not  wait  till  next  week.  You 
best  start  Tim  on  that  with  the  mower  in  the  mornin'." 
Then,  taking  a  survey  of  the  heavens,  he  added,  "Looks 
as  if  it  might  be  a  spell  of  good  weather."  His  diplo- 
macy was  successful  and  the  moment  of  danger  was 
past.  Meantime  Cameron  had  sauntered  to  the  end  of 
the  drill  where  Tim  stood  leaning  quietly  on  his  hoe. 

"Tim,  you  are  a  turnip-hoer !"  he  said,  with  warm 
admiration  in  his  tone,  "and  what's  more,  Tim,  you're  a 
sport.  I'd  like  to  handle  you  in  something  big.  You  will 
make  a  man  yet." 

Tim's  whole  face  flushed  a  warm  red  under  the  coat 
of  freckles.  For  a  time  he  stood  silently  contemplating 
the  turnips,  then  with  difficulty  he  found  his  voice. 

"It  was  you  done  it,"  he  said,  choking  over  his  words. 
"I  was  beat  there  and  was  just  quittin'  when  you  came 
along  and  spoke.  My!"  he  continued,  with  a  sharp 
intake  of  his  breath,  "I  was  awful  near  quittin',"  and 
then,  looking  straight  into  Cameron's  eyes,  "It  was  you 
done  it,  and — I — won't  forget."  His  voice  choked  again, 
but,  reading  his  eyes,  Cameron  knew  that  he  had  gained 


198  COEPORAL    CAMERON 

one  of  life's  greatest  treasures,  a  boy's  adoring  grati- 
tude. 

"This  has  been  a  great  day,  Tim,"  said  Cameron.  "I 
have  learned  to  hoe  turnips,  and,"  putting  his  hand  on 
the  boy's  shoulder,  "I  believe  I  have  made  a  friend." 
Again  the  hot  blood  surged  into  Tim's  face.  He  stood 
voiceless,  but  he  needed  no  words.  Cameron  knew  well 
the  passionate  emotion  that  thrilled  his  soul  and  shook 
the  slight  body,  trembling  under  his  hand.  For  Tim,  too, 
it  had  been  a  notable  day.  He  had  achieved  the  greatest 
ambition  of  his  life  in  beating  the  best  turnip-hoer  on 
the  line,  and  he,  too,  had  found  what  to  a  boy  is  a  price- 
less treasure,  a  man  upon  whom  he  could  lavish  the  hero 
worship  of  his  soul. 


A   RAINY    DAY  199 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  RAINY  DAY 

IT  was  haying  time.  Over  the  fields  of  yellowing  fall 
wheat  and  barley,  of  grey  timothy  and  purple 
clover,  the  heat  shimmered  in  dancing  waves. 
Everywhere  the  growing  crops  were  drinking  in  the 
light  and  heat  with  eager  thirst,  for  the  call  of  the 
harvest  was  ringing  through  the  land.  The  air  was 
sweet  with  scents  of  the  hay  fields,  and  the  whole  coun- 
try side  was  humming  with  the  sound  of  the  mowers. 
It  was  the  crowning  time  of  the  year ;  toward  this  season 
all  the  life  of  the  farm  moved  steadily  the  whole  year 
long;  the  next  two  months  or  three  would  bring  to  the 
farmer  the  fruit  of  long  days  of  toil  and  waiting.  Every 
minute  of  these  harvest  days,  from  the  early  grey  dawn, 
when  Mandy  called  the  cows  in  for  the  milking,  till  the 
long  shadows  from  the  orchard  lay  quite  across  the  wide 
barley  field,  when  Tim,  handling  his  team  with  careless 
pride,  drove  in  the  last  load  for  the  day,  every  minute 
was  packed  full  of  life  and  action.  But  though  busy 
were  the  days  and  full  of  hard  and  at  times  back-break- 
ing and  nerve-straining  work,  what  of  it?  The  colour, 
the  rush,  the  eager  race  with  the  flying  hours,  the  sense 
of  triumph,  the  promise  of  wealth,  the  certainty  of 
comfort,  all  these  helped  to  carry  off  the  heaviest  toil 
with  a  swing  and  vim  that  banished  aches  from  the  body 
and  weariness  from  the  soul. 

To  Cameron,  all  unskilled  as  he  was,  the  days  brought 
many  an  hour  of  strenuous  toil,  but  every  day  his  muscles 
were  knitting  more  firmly,  his  hands  were  hardening, 
and  his  mastery  of  himself  growing  more  complete. 


200  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

In  haying  there  is  no  large  place  for  skill.  This  op- 
eration, unlike  that  of  turnip-hoeing,  demands  chiefly 
strength,  quickness,  and  endurance,  and  especially  en- 
durance. To  stand  all  day  in  the  hay  field  under  the 
burning  sun  with  its  rays  leaping  back  from  the  super- 
heated ground,  and  roll  up  the  windrows  into  huge 
bundles  and  toss  them  on  to  the  wagon,  or  to  run  up  a 
long  line  of  cocks  and  heave  them  fork-handle  high  to  the 
top  of  a  load,  calls  for  something  of  skill,  but  mainly  for 
strength  of  arm  and  back.  But  skill  had  its  place,  and 
once  more  it  was  Tim  who  stood  close  to  Cameron  and 
showed  him  all  the  tricks  of  pitching  hay.  It  was  Tim 
who  showed  him  how  to  stand  with  his  back  to  the  wagon 
so  as  to  get  the  load  properly  poised  with  the  least  ex- 
penditure of  strength;  it  was  Tim  who  taught  him  the 
cunning  trick  of  using  his  thigh  as  a  fulcrum  in  getting 
his  load  up,  rather  than  doing  it  by  "main  strength 
and  awkwardness";  it  was  Tim  who  demonstrated  the 
method  of  lifting  half  a  cock  by  running  the  end  of  the 
fork  handle  into  the  ground  so  that  the  whole  earth 
might  aid  in  the  hoisting  of  the  load.  Of  course  in  all 
this  Cameron's  intelligence  and  quickness  stood  him  in 
the  place  of  long  experience,  and  before  the  first  day's 
hauling  was  done  he  was  able  to  keep  his  wagon  going. 

But  with  all  the  stimulus  of  the  harvest  movement 
and  colour,  Cameron  found  himself  growing  weary  of 
the  life  on  the  Haley  farm.  It  was  not  the  long  days, 
and  to  none  on  the  farm  were  the  days  longer  than  to 
Cameron,  who  had  taken  upon  himself  the  duty  of  sup- 
plying the  kitchen  with  wood  and  water,  no  small  busi- 
ness, either  at  the  beginning  or  at  the  end  of  a  long  day's 
work ;  it  was  not  the  heavy  toil ;  it  was  chiefly  the  con- 
tinuous contact  with  the  dirt  and  disorder  of  his  environ- 
ment that  wore  his  body  down  and  his  spirit  raw.  No 


A   RAINY    DAY  201 

matter  with  how  keen  a  hunger  did  he  approach  the 
dinner  table,  the  disgusting  filth  everywhere  apparent 
would  cause  his  gorge  to  rise  and,  followed  by  the  cheer- 
ful gibes  of  Perkins,  he  would  retire  often  with  his 
strength  unrecruited  and  his  hunger  unappeased,  and, 
though  he  gradually  achieved  a  certain  skill  in  picking 
his  way  through  a  meal,  selecting  such  articles  of  food 
as  could  be  less  affected  than  others  by  the  unsavoury 
surroundings,  the  want  of  appetising  and  nourishing 
food  told  disastrously  upon  his  strength.  His  sleep, 
too,  was  broken  and  disturbed  by  the  necessity  of  shar- 
ing a  bed  with  Webster.  He  had  never  been  accustomed 
to  "doubling  up,"  and  under  the  most  favourable  circum- 
stances the  experience  would  not  have  been  conducive 
to  sound  sleep,  but  Webster's  manner  of  life  was  not 
such  as  to  render  him  an  altogether  desirable  bed-fellow. 
For,  while  the  majority  of  farm  lads  in  the  neighbour- 
hood made  at  least  semi-weekly  pilgrimages  to  the  "dam" 
for  a  swim,  Webster  felt  no  necessity  laid  upon  him  for 
such  an  expenditure  of  energy  after  a  hard  and  sweaty 
day  in  the  field.  His  ideas  of  hygiene  were  of  the  most 
elementary  nature;  hence  it  was  his  nightly  custom, 
when  released  from  the  toils  of  the  day,  to  proceed  up- 
stairs to  his  room  and,  slipping  his  braces  from  his  shoul- 
ders, allow  his  nether  garments  to  drop  to  the  floor  and, 
without  further  preparation,  roll  into  bed.  Of  the 
effeminacy  of  a  night  robe  Webster  knew  nothing  ex- 
cept by  somewhat  hazy  rumour.  Once  under  the  patch- 
work quilt  he  was  safe  for  the  night,  for,  heaving  himself 
into  the  middle  of  the  bed,  he  sank  into  solid  and  stertor- 
ous slumber,  from  which  all  Cameron's  prods  and  kicks 
failed  to  arouse  him  till  the  grey  dawn  once  more  sum- 
moned him  to  life,  whereupon,  resuming  the  aforesaid 
nether  garments,  he  was  once  more  simply,  but  in  his 


202  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

opinion  quite  sufficiently,  equipped  for  his  place  among 
men.  Many  nights  did  it  happen  that  the  stertorous 
melody  of  Webster's  all  too  odourous  slumbers  drove 
Cameron  to  find  a  bed  upon  the  floor.  Once  again  Tim 
was  his  friend,  for  it  was  to  Tim  that  Cameron  owed  the 
blissful  experience  of  a  night  in  the  hay  loft  upon  the 
newly  harvested  hay.  There,  buried  in  its  fragrant 
depths  and  drawing  deep  breaths  of  the  clean  unbreathed 
air  that  swept  in  through  the  great  open  barn  doors, 
Cameron  experienced  a  joy  hitherto  undreamed  of  in 
association  with  the  very  commonplace  exercise  of  sleep. 
After  his  first  night  in  the  hay  mow,  which  he  shared 
with  Tim,  he  awoke  refreshed  in  body  and  with  a  new 
courage  in  his  heart. 

"By  Jove,  Tim  I  That's  the  finest  thing  I  ever  had  in 
the  way  of  sleep.  Now  if  we  only  had  a  tub." 

"Tub!    What  for?" 

"A  dip,  my  boy,  a  splash." 

"To  wash  in?"  enquired  Tim,  wondering  at  the  exuber- 
ance of  his  friend's  desires.  "I'll  get  a  tub,"  he  added, 
and,  running  to  the  house,  returned  with  wash  tub  and 
towel. 

"Tim,  my  boy,  you're  a  jewel !"  exclaimed  Cameron. 

From  the  stable  cistern  they  filled  the  vessel  full  and 
first  Cameron  and,  after  persuasion  and  with  rather 
dubious  delight,  Tim  tasted  the  joy  of  a  morning  tub. 
Henceforth  life  became  distinctly  more  endurable  to 
Cameron. 

But,  more  than  all  the  other  irritating  elements  in 
his  environment  put  together,  Cameron  chafed  under 
the  unceasing  rasp  of  Perkins'  wit,  clever,  if  somewhat 
crude  and  cumbrous.  Perkins  had  never  forgotten  nor 
forgiven  his  defeat  at  the  turnip-hoeing,  which  he  at- 
tributed chiefly  to  Cameron.  His  gibes  at  Cameron's 


A   RAINY    DAY  203 

awkwardness  in  the  various  operations  on  the  farm,  his 
readiness  to  seize  every  opportunity  for  ridicule,  his 
skill  at  creating  awkward  situations,  all  these  sensibly 
increased  the  wear  on  Cameron's  spirit.  All  these, 
however,  Cameron  felt  he  could  put  up  with  without 
endangering  his  self-control,  but  when  Perkins,  with 
vulgar  innuendo,  chaffed  the  farmer's  daughter  upon  her 
infatuation  for  the  "young  Scotty,"  as  he  invariably 
designated  Cameron,  or  when  he  rallied  Cameron  upon 
his  supposed  triumph  in  the  matter  of  Mandy's  youthful 
affections,  then  Cameron  raged  and  with  difficulty  kept 
his  hands  from  his  cheerful  and  ever  smiling  tormentor. 
It  did  not  help  matters  much  that  apparently  Mandy 
took  no  offense  at  Perkins'  insinuations;  indeed,  it 
gradually  dawned  upon  Cameron  that  what  to  him 
would  seem  a  vulgar  impertinence  might  to  this  uncul- 
tured girl  appear  no  more  than  a  harmless  pleasantry. 
At  all  costs  he  was  resolved  that  under  no  circumstances 
would  he  allow  his  self-control  to  be  broken  through. 
He  would  finish  out  his  term  with  the  farmer  without 
any  violent  outbreak.  It  was  quite  possible  that  Per- 
kins and  others  would  take  him  for  a  chicken-hearted 
fool,  but  all  the  same  he  would  maintain  this  attitude 
of  resolute  self-control  to  the  very  end.  After  all,  what 
mattered  the  silly  gibes  of  an  ignorant  boor?  And  when 
his  term  was  done  he  would  abandon  the  farm  life  for- 
ever. It  took  but  little  calculation  to  make  quite  clear 
that  there  was  not  much  to  hope  for  in  the  way  of  ad- 
vancement from  farming  in  this  part  of  Canada.  Even 
Perkins,  who  received  the  very  highest  wage  in  that 
neighbourhood,  made  no  more  than  $300  a  year;  and, 
with  land  at  sixty  to  seventy-five  dollars  per  acre,  it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  would  be  an  old  man  before  he 
could  become  the  owner  of  a  farm.  He  was  heart  sick 


204  CORPOEAL    CAMERON 

of  the  pettiness  and  sordidness  of  the  farm  life,  whose 
horizon  seemed  to  be  that  of  the  hundred  acres  or  so  that 
comprised  it.  Therefore  he  resolved  that  to  the  great 
West  he  would  go,  that  great  wonderful  West  with  its 
vast  spaces  and  its  vast  possibilities  of  achievement. 
The  rumour  of  it  filled  the  country  side.  Meantime  for 
two  months  longer  he  would  endure. 

A  rainy  day  brought  relief.  Oh,  the  blessed  Sabbath 
of  a  rainy  day,  when  the  wheels  stop  and  silence  falls 
in  the  fields;  and  the  tired  harvest  hands  recline  at 
ease  upon  the  new  cut  and  sweet  smelling  hay  on  the 
barn  floor,  and  through  the  wide  open  doors  look  out 
upon  the  falling  rain  that  roars  upon  the  shingles,  pours 
down  in  cataracts  from  the  eaves  and  washes  clean  the 
air  that  wanders  in,  laden  with  those  subtle  scents  that 
old  mother  earth  releases  only  when  the  rain  falls.  Oh, 
happy  rainy  days  in  harvest  time  when,  undisturbed  by 
conscience,  the  weary  toilers  stretch  and  slumber  and 
wake  to  lark  and  chaff  in  careless  ease  the  long  hours 
through ! 

In  the  Haleys'  barn  they  were  all  gathered,  gazing 
lazily  and  with  undisturbed  content  at  the  steady  down- 
pour that  indicated  an  all-day  rest.  Even  Haley,  upon 
whose  crops  the  rain  was  teeming  down,  was  enjoying 
the  rest  from  the  toil,  for  most  of  the  hay  that  had  been 
cut  was  already  in  cock  or  in  the  barn.  Besides,  Haley 
worked  as  hard  as  the  best  of  them  and  welcomed  a 
day's  rest.  So  let  it  rain ! 

While  they  lay  upon  the  hay  on  tli?  barn  floor,  with 
tired  muscles  all  relaxed,  drinking  in  the  fragrant  airs 
that  stole  in  from  the  rain-washed  skies  outside,  in  the 
slackening  of  the  rain  two  neighbours  dropped  in,  big 
"Mack"  Murray  and  his  brother  Danny,  for  a  "crack" 
about  things  in  general  and  especially  to  discuss  the 


A   RAINY    DAY  205 

Dominion  Day  picnic  which  was  coming  off  at  the  end 
of  the  following  week.  This  picnic  was  to  be  something 
out  of  the  ordinary,  for,  in  addition  to  the  usual  feasting 
and  frolicking,  there  was  advertised  an  athletic  contest 
of  a  superior  order,  the  prizes  in  which  were  sufficiently 
attractive  to  draw,  not  only  local  athletes,  but  even  some 
of  the  best  from  the  neighbouring  city.  A  crack  runner 
was  expected  and  perhaps  even  McGee,  the  big  police- 
man of  the  London  City  force,  a  hammer  thrower  of 
fame,  might  be  present. 

"Let  him  come,  eh,  Mack?"  said  Perkins.  "I  guess 
we  ain't  afraid  of  no  city  bug  beating  you  with  the 
hammer." 

"Oh!  I'm  no  thrower,"  said  Mack  modestly.  "I  just 
take  the  thing  up  and  give  it  a  fling.  I  haven't  got  the 
trick  of  it  at  all." 

"Have  you  practised  much?"  said  Cameron,  whose 
heart  warmed  at  the  accent  that  might  have  been  trans- 
planted that  very  day  from  his  own  North  country. 

"Never  at  all,  except  now  and  then  at  the  blacksmith's 
shop  on  a  rainy  day,"  replied  Mack.  "Have  you  done 
anything  at  it?" 

"Oh,  I  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  it  at  the  games  in 
the  north  of  Scotland,"  replied  Cameron. 

"Man !  I  Avish  we  had  a  hammer  and  you  could  show 
me  the  trick  of  it,"  said  Mack  fervently,  "for  they  will 
be  looking  to  me  to  throw  and  I  do  not  wish  to  be 
beaten  just  too  easily." 

"There's  a  big  mason's  hammer,"  said  Tim,  "in  the 
tool  house,  I  think." 

"Get  it,  Tim,  then,"  said  Mack  eagerly,  "and  we  will 
have  a  little  practise  at  it,  for  throw  I  must,  and  I  have 
no  wish  to  bring  discredit  on  my  country,  for  it  will 
be  a  big  day.  They  will  be  coming  from  all  over.  The 


206 


Band  of  the  Seventh  is  coming  out  and  Piper  Suther- 
land from  Zorra  will  be  there." 

"A  piper!"  echoed  Cameron.  "Is  there  much  pipe 
playing  in  this  country?" 

"Indeed,  you  may  say  that!"  said  Mack,  "and 
good  pipers  they  are  too,  they  tell  me.  Piper  Suther- 
land, I  think,  was  of  the  old  Forty-twa.  Are  you  a 
piper,  perhaps?"  continued  Mack. 

"Oh,  I  play  a  little,"  said  Cameron.  "I  have  a  set  in 
the  house." 

"God  bless  my  soul !"  cried  Mack,  "and  we  never  knew 
it.  Tell  Danny  where  they  are  and  he  will  fetch  them 
out.  Go,  Danny !" 

"Never  mind,  I  will  get  them  myself,"  said  Cameron, 
trying  to  conceal  his  eagerness,  for  he  had  long  been 
itching  for  a  chance  to  play  and  his  fingers  were  now 
tingling  for  the  chanter. 

It  was  an  occasion  of  great  delight,  not  only  to  big 
Mack  and  his  brother  Danny  and  the  others,  but  to 
Cameron  himself.  Up  and  down  the  floor  he  marched, 
making  the  rafters  of  the  big  barn  ring  with  the  ancient 
martial  airs  of  Scotland  and  then,  dropping  into  a 
lighter  strain,  he  set  their  feet  a-rapping  with  reels  and 
strathspeys. 

"Man,  yon's  great  playing!"  cried  Mack  with  fervent 
enthusiasm  to  the  company  who  had  gathered  to  the 
summons  of  the  pipes  from  the  house  and  from  the  high 
road,  "and  think  of  him  keeping  them  in  his  chest  all 
this  time!  And  what  else  can  you  do?"  went  on  Mack, 
with  the  enthusiasm  of  a  discoverer.  "You  have  been 
in  the  big  games,  too,  I  warrant  you." 

Cameron  confessed  to  some  experience  of  these  thrill- 
ing events. 

"Bless  my  soul!    We  will  put  you  against  the  big 


A   RAINY    DAY  207 

folk  from  the  city.  Come  and  show  us  the  hammer," 
said  Mack,  leading  the  way  out  of  the  barn,  for  the  rain 
had  ceased,  with  a  big  mason's  hammer  in  his  hand. 
It  needed  but  a  single  throw  to  make  it  quite  clear  to 
Cameron  that  Mack  was  greatly  in  need  of  coaching. 
As  he  said  himself  he  "just  took  up  the  thing  and  gave 
it  a  fling."  A  mighty  fling,  too,  it  proved  to  be. 

"Twenty-eight  paces!"  cried  Cameron,  and  then,  to 
make  sure,  stepped  it  back  again.  "Yes,"  he  said, 
"twenty-eight  paces,  nearly  twenty-nine.  Great  Caesar ! 
Mack,  if  you  only  had  the  Braemar  swing  you  would 
be  a  famous  thrower." 

"Och,  now,  you  are  just  joking  me!"  said  Mack  mod- 
estly. 

"You  can  add  twenty  feet  easily  to  your  throw  if 
you  get  the  swing,"  asserted  Cameron.  "Look  here, 
now,  get  this  swing,"  and  Cameron  demonstrated  in 
his  best  style  the  famous  Braemar  swing. 

"Thirty-two  paces!"  said  Mack  in  amazement  after 
he  had  measured  the  throw.  "Man  alive!  you  can  beat 
McGee,  let  alone  myself." 

"Now,  Mack,  get  the  throw,"  said  Cameron,  with 
enthusiasm.  "You  will  be  a  great  thrower."  But  try 
though  he  might  Mack  failed  to  get  the  swing. 

"Man,  come  over  to-night  and  bring  your  pipes. 
Danny  will  fetch  out  his  fiddle  and  we  will  have  a  bit 
of  a  frolic,  and,"  he  added,  as  if  in  an  afterthought, 
"I  have  a  big  hammer  yonder,  the  regulation  size.  We 
might  have  a  throw  or  so." 

"Thanks,  I  will  be  sure  to  come,"  said  Cameron 
eagerly. 

"Come,  all  of  you,"  said  Mack,  "and  you  too,  Mandy. 
We  will  clear  out  the  barn  floor  and  have  a  regular 
hoe-down." 


208  CORPORAL    CAM EBON 

"Oh,  pshaw!"  giggled  Mandy,  tossing  her  head.  "I 
can't  dance." 

"Oh,  come  along  and  watch  me,  then,"  said  Mack,  in 
good  humour,  who,  with  all  his  two  hundred  pounds, 
was  lightfooted  as  a  girl. 

The  Hurrays'  new  big  bank  barn  was  considered  the 
finest  in  the  country  and  the  new  floor  was  still  quite 
smooth  and  eminently  suited  to  a  "hoe-down."  Before 
the  darkness  had  fallen,  however,  Mack  drew  Cameron, 
with  Danny,  Perkins,  and  a  few  of  the  neighbours  who 
had  dropped  in,  out  to  the  lane  and,  giving  him  a  big 
hammer,  "Try  that,"  he  said,  with  some  doubt  in  his 
tone. 

Cameron  took  the  hammer. 

"This  is  the  right  thing.  The  weight  of  it  will  make 
more  difference  to  me,  however,  than  to  you,  Mack." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  so  sure,"  said  Mack.  "Show  us  how  you 
do  it." 

The  first  throw  Cameron  took  easily. 

"Twenty-nine  paces!"  cried  Mack,  after  stepping  it 
off.  "Man!  that's  a  great  throw,  and  you  do  it 
easy." 

"Not  much  of  a  throw,"  laughed  Cameron.  "Try  it 
yourself." 

Ignoring  the  swing,  Mack  tried  the  throw  in  his  own 
style  and  hurled  the  hammer  two  paces  beyond  Cam- 
eron's throw. 

"You  did  that  with  your  arms  only,"  said  Cameron. 
"Now  you  must  put  legs  and  shoulders  into  it." 

"Let's  see  you  beat  that  throw  yourself,"  laughed 
Perkins,  who  was  by  no  means  pleased  with  the  sudden 
distinction  that  had  come  to  the  "Scotty." 

Cameron  took  the  hammer  and,  with  the  easy  slow 
grace  of  the  Braemar  swing,  made  his  throw. 


A    RAINY    DAY  209 

"Hooray !"  yelled  Danny,  who  was  doing  the  measur- 
ing. "You  got  it  yon  time  for  sure.  Three  paces  to 
the  good.  You'll  have  to  put  your  back  into  it,  Mack, 
I  guess." 

Once  more  Mack  seized  the  hammer.  Then  Cameron 
took  Mack  in  hand  and,  over  and  over  again,  coached 
him  in  the  poise  and  swing. 

"Now  try  it,  and  think  of  your  legs  and  back.  Let 
the  hammer  take  care  of  itself.  Now,  nice  and  easy 
and  slow,  not  far  this  time." 

Again  and  again  Mack  practised  the  swing. 

"You're  getting  it!"  cried  Cameron  enthusiastically, 
"but  you  are  trying  too  hard.  Forget  the  distance  this 
time  and  think  only  of  the  easy  slow  swing.  Let  your 
muscles  go  slack."  So  he  coached  his  pupil. 

At  length,  after  many  attempts,  Mack  succeeded  in 
delivering  his  hammer  according  to  instructions. 

"Man!  you  are  right!"  he  exclaimed.  "That's  the 
trick  of  it  and  it  is  as  smooth  as  oil." 

"Keep  it  up,  Mack,"  said  Cameron,  "and  always 
easy." 

Over  and  over  again  he  put  the  big  man  through  the 
swing  till  he  began  to  catch  the  notion  of  the  rhythmic, 
harmonious  cooperation  of  the  various  muscles  in  legs 
and  shoulders  and  arms  so  necessary  to  the  highest 
result. 

"You've  got  the  swing,  Mack,"  at  length  said  Cam- 
eron. "Now  then,  this  time  let  yourself  go.  Don't  try 
your  best,  but  let  yourself  out.  Easy,  now,  easy.  Get 
it  first  in  your  mind." 

For  a  moment  Mack  stood  pondering.  He  was  "get- 
ting it  in  his  mind."  Then,  with  a  long  swing,  easy 
and  slow,  he  gave  the  great  hammer  a  mighty  heave. 
With  a  shout  the  company  crowded  about. 


210  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

"Thirty-three,  thirty-four,  thirty-five,  thirty-six,  thirty- 
seven  !  Hooray !  bully  for  you,  Mack.  You  are  the  lad !" 

"Get  the  line  on  it,"  said  Mack  quietly.  The  measur- 
ing line  showed  one  hundred  and  eleven  and  a  half  feet. 
The  boys  crowded  round  him,  exclaiming,  cheering, 
patting  him  on  the  back.  Mack  received  the  congratu- 
lations in  silence,  then,  turning  to  Cameron,  said  very 
earnestly : 

"Man !  yon's  as  easy  as  eating  butter.  You  have  done 
me  a  good  turn  to-day." 

"Oh,  that's  nothing,  Mack,"  said  Cameron,  who  was 
more  pleased  than  any  of  them.  "You  got  the  swing 
perfectly  that  time.  You  can  put  twenty  feet  to  that 
throw.  One  hundred  and  eleven  feet !  Why,  I  can  beat 
that  myself." 

"Man  alive!  Do  you  tell  me  now!"  said  Mack  in 
amazement,  running  his  eyes  over  Cameron's  lean  mus- 
cular body. 

"I  have  done  it  often  when  I  wras  in  shape." 

"Oh,  rats!"  said  Perkins  with  a  laugh.  "Where  was 
that?" 

Cameron  flushed  a  deep  red,  then  turned  pale,  but 
kept  silent. 

"I  believe  you,  my  boy,"  said  Mack  with  emphasis 
and  facing  sharply  upon  Perkins,  "and  if  ever  I  do  a 
big  throw  I  will  owe  it  to  you." 

"Oh,  come  off !"  said  Perkins,  again  laughing  scorn- 
fully. "There  are  others  that  know  the  swing  besides 
Scotty  here.  What  you  have  got  you  owe  to  no  one 
but  yourself,  Mack." 

"If  I  beat  the  man  McGee  next  week,"  said  Mack 
quietly,  "it  will  be  from  what  I  learned  to-night,  and 
I  know  what  I  am  saying.  Man!  it's  a  lucky  thing  we 
found  you.  But  that  will  do  for  just  now.  Come  along 


A   RAINY    DAY  211 

to  the  barn.  Hooray  for  the  pipes  and  the  lassies! 
They  are  worth  all  the  hammers  in  the  world!"  And, 
putting  his  arm  through  Cameron's,  he  led  the  way  to 
the  barn,  followed  by  the  others. 

"If  Scotty  could  only  hoe  turnips  and  tie  wheat  as 
well  as  he  can  play  the  pipes  and  throw  the  hammer," 
said  Perkins  to  the  others  as  they  followed  in  the  rear, 
"I  guess  he'd  soon  have  us  all  leaning  against  the  fence 
to  dry." 

"He  will,  too,  some  day,"  said  Tim,  whose  indignation 
at  Perkins  overcame  the  shyness  which  usually  kept 
him  silent  in  the  presence  of  older  men. 

"Hello,  Timmy!  What  are  you  chipping  in  for?" 
said  Perkins,  reaching  for  the  boy's  coat  collar.  "He 
thinks  this  Scotty  is  the  whole  works,  and  he  is  great 
too — at  showing  people  how  to  do  things." 

"I  hear  he  showed  Tim  how  to  hoe  turnips,"  said  one 
of  the  boys  slyly.  The  laugh  that  followed  showed  that 
the  story  of  Tim's  triumph  over  the  champion  had  gone 
abroad. 

"Oh,  rot!"  said  Perkins  angrily.  "Tim's  got  a  little 
too  perky  because  I  let  him  get  ahead  of  me  one  night 
in  a  drill  of  turnips." 

"Yeh  done  yer  best,  didn't  he,  Webster?"  cried  Tim 
with  indignation. 

"Well,  he  certainly  was  making  some  pretty  big 
gashes  in  them  drills,"  said  Webster  slowly. 

"Oh,  get  out !"  replied  Perkins.  "Though  all  the  same 
Tim's  quite  a  turnip-hoer,"  he  conceded.  "Hello! 
There's  quite  a  crowd  in  the  barn,  Danny.  I  wish  I  had 
my  store  clothes  on." 

At  this  a  girl  came  running  to  meet  them. 

"Come  on,  Danny!  Tune  up.  I  can  hardly  keep  my 
heels  on  my  boots." 


212  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

"Oh,  you'll  not  be  wanting  my  little  fiddle  after  you 
have  heard  Cameron  on  the  pipes,  Isa." 

"Never  you  fear  that,  Danny,"  replied  Isa,  catching 
him  by  the  arm  and  hurrying  him  onward. 

"Wait  a  minute.  I  want  you  to  meet  Mr.  Cameron/' 
said  Danny. 

"Come  away,  then,"  replied  Isa.  "I  am  dying  to  get 
done  with  it  and  get  the  fiddle  going." 

But  Cameron  was  in  the  meantime  engaged,  for  Mack 
was  busy  introducing  him  to  a  bevy  of  girls  who  stood 
at  one  corner  of  the  barn  floor. 

"My!  but  he's  a  braw  lad!"  said  Isa  gayly,  as  she 
watched  Cameron  making  his  bows. 

"Yes,  he  is  that,"  replied  Danny  with  enthusiastic 
admiration,  "and  a  hammer-thrower,  too,  he  is." 

"What!    yon  stripling?" 

"You  may  say  it.    He  can  beat  Mack  there." 

"Mack !"  cried  Isa,  with  scorn.  "It's  just  big  lies  you 
are  telling  me." 

"Indeed,  he  has  beaten  Mack's  best  throw  many  a 
time." 

"And  how  do  you  know?"  exclaimed  Isa. 

"He  said  so  himself." 

"Ah  ha !"  said  Isa  scornfully.  "He  is  good  at  blowing 
his  own  horn  whatever,  and  I  don't  believe  he  can  beat 
Mack — and  I  don't  like  him  a  bit,"  she  continued,  her 
dark  eyes  flashing  and  the  red  colour  glowing  in  her 
full  round  cheek. 

"Come,  Isa !"  cried  Mack,  catching  sight  of  her  in  the 
dim  light.  "Come here,  I  want  Mr.  Cameron  to  meet  you." 

"How  do  you  do?"  said  the  girl,  giving  Cameron  her 
hand  and  glancing  saucily  into  his  face.  "I  hear  you 
are  a  piper  and  a  hammer-thrower  and  altogether  a 
wonderful  man." 


213 


"A  wonderfully  lucky  man,  to  have  the  pleasure  of 
meeting  you,"  said  Cameron,  glancing  boldly  back  at 
her. 

"And  I  am  sure  you  can  dance  the  fling,"  continued 
Isa.  "All  the  Highlanders  do." 

"Not  all,"  said  Cameron.  "But  with  certain  part- 
ners all  Highlanders  would  love  to  try." 

"Oh  aye,"  with  a  soft  Highland  accent  that  warmed 
Cameron's  blood.  "I  see  you  have  the  tongue.  Come 
away,  Danny,  now,  strike  up,  or  I  will  go  on  without 
you."  And  the  girl  kilted  her  skirts  and  began  a  reel, 
and  as  Mack's  eyes  followed  her  every  step  there  was 
no  mistaking  their  expression.  To  Mack  there  was  only 
one  girl  in  the  barn,  or  in  all  the  world  for  that  matter, 
and  that  was  the  leal-hearted,  light-footed,  black-eyed 
Isa  MacKenzie.  Bonnie  she  was,  and  that  she  well  knew, 
the  belle  of  the  whole  township,  driving  the  men  to 
distraction  and  for  all  that  holding  the  love  of  her  own 
sex  as  well.  But  her  heart  was  still  her  own,  or  at  least 
she  thought  it  was,  for  all  big  Mack  Murray's  open  and 
simple-hearted  adoration,  and  she  was  ready  for  a  frolic 
with  any  man  who  could  give  her  word  for  word  or 
dance  with  her  the  Highland  reel. 

With  the  courtesy  of  a  true  gentleman,  Danny  led 
off  with  his  fiddle  till  they  had  all  got  thoroughly  into 
the  spirit  and  swing  of  the  frolic,  and  then,  putting  his 
instrument  back  into  its  bag,  he  declared  that  they  were 
all  tired  of  it  and  were  waiting  for  the  pipes. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it!"  cried  Isa.  "But  we  will  give  you 
a  rest,  Danny,  and  besides  I  want  to  dance  a  reel  with 
you  myself — though  Mr.  Cameron  is  not  bad,"  she 
added,  with  a  little  bow  to  Cameron,  with  whom  she 
had  just  finished  a  reel. 

Readily  enough  Cameron  tuned  his  pipes,  for  he  was 


214  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

aching  to  get  at  them  and  only  too  glad  to  furnish  music 
for  the  gay  company  of  kindly  hearted  folk  who  were 
giving  him  his  first  evening's  pleasure  since  he  had  left 
the  Cuagh  Oir. 

From  reel  to  schottische  and  from  schottische  to  reel, 
foursome  and  eightsome,  they  kept  him  playing,  ever 
asking  for  more,  till  the  gloaming  passed  into  moonlight 
and  still  they  were  not  done.  The  respite  came  through 
Mandy,  who,  solid  in  weight  and  heavy  of  foot,  had 
laboured  through  the  reels  as  often  as  she  could  get  a 
partner,  and  at  other  times  had  sat  gazing  in  rapt  devo- 
tion upon  the  piper. 

"Whoop  her  up  again,  Scotty!"  cried  Perkins,  when 
Cameron  paused  at  the  end  of  a  reel. 

"Don't  you  do  it!"  said  Mandy  sharply,  her  deep 
voice  booming  through  the  barn.  "He's  just  tired  of 
it,  and  I'm  tired  looking  at  him." 

There  was  a  shout  of  laughter  which  covered  poor 
Mandy  with  wrathful  confusion. 

"Good  for  you,  Mandy,"  cried  Perkins  with  a  great 
guffaw.  "You  want  some  music  now,  don't  you?  So 
do  I.  Come  on,  Danny." 

"No,  I  don't,"  snapped  Mandy,  who  could  understand 
neither  the  previous  laugh  nor  that  which  greeted  Per- 
kins' sally. 

"Allan,"  she  said,  sticking  a  little  over  the  name,  "is 
tired  out,  and  besides  it's  time  we  were  going  home." 

"That's  right,  take  him  home,  Mandy,  and  put  the 
little  dear  to  bed,"  said  Perkins. 

"You  needn't  be  so  smart,  Joe  Perkins,"  said  Mandy 
angrily.  "Anyway  I'm  going  home.  I've  got  to  be  up 
early." 

"Me  too,  Mandy,"  said  Cameron,  packing  up  his  pipes, 
for  his  sympathy  had  been  roused  for  the  girl  who  was 


A    KAINY    DAY  215 

championing  him  so  bravely.  "I  have  had  a  great  night 
and  I  have  played  you  all  to  death ;  but  you  will  forgive 
me.  I  was  lonely  for  the  chanter.  I  have  not  touched 
it  since  I  left  home." 

There  was  a  universal  cry  of  protest  as  they  gathered 
about  him. 

"Indeed,  Mr.  Cameron,  you  have  given  us  all  a  rare 
treat,"  cried  Isa,  coming  close  to  him,  "and  I  only  wish 
you  could  pipe  and  dance  at  the  same  time." 

"That's  so!"  cried  Mack,  "but  what's  the  matter 
with  the  fiddle,  Isa?  Come,  Danny,  strike  up.  Let 
them  have  a  reel  together." 

Cameron  glanced  at  Mandy,  who  was  standing  im- 
patiently waiting.  Perkins  caught  the  glance. 

"Oh,  please  let  him  stay,  Mandy,"  he  pleaded. 

"He  can  stay  if  he  likes,"  sniffed  Mandy  scornfully. 
"I  got  no  string  on  him;  but  I'm  goin'  home.  Good- 
night, everybody." 

"Good-night,  Mandy,"  called  Perkins.  "Tell  them 
we're  comin'." 

"Just  a  moment,  Mandy!"  said  Cameron,  "and  I'm 
with  you.  Another  time  I  hope  to  do  a  reel  with  you, 
Miss  MacKenzie,"  he  said,  bidding  her  good-night,  "and 
I  hope  it  will  be  soon." 

"Remember,  then,"  cried  Isa,  warmly  shaking  hands 
with  him.  "I  will  keep  you  to  your  promise  at  the 
picnic." 

"Fine!"  said  Cameron,  and  with  easy  grace  he  made 
his  farewells  and  set  off  after  Mandy,  who  by  this  time 
was  some  distance  down  the  lane. 

"You  needn't  come  for  me,"  she  said,  throwing  her 
voice  at  him  over  her  shoulder. 

"What  a  splendid  night  we  have  had !"  said  Cameron, 
ignoring  her  wrath.  "And  what  awfully  nice  people." 


216  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

Mandy  grunted  and  in  silence  continued  her  way 
down  the  lane,  picking  her  steps  between  the  muddy 
spots  and  pools  left  by  the  rain. 

After  some  minutes  Cameron,  who  was  truly  sorry 
for  the  girl,  ventured  to  resume  the  conversation. 

"Didn't  you  enjoy  the  evening,  Mandy?" 

"No,  I  didn't!"  she  replied  shortly.  "I  can't  dance 
and  they  all  know  it." 

"Why  don't  you  learn,  Mandy?  You  could  dance  if 
you  practised." 

"I  can't.    I  ain't  like  the  other  girls.    I'm  too  clumsy." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  Cameron.  "I've  watched  you 
stepping  about  the  house  and  you  are  not  a  bit  clumsy. 
If  you  only  practised  a  bit  you  would  soon  pick  up  the 
schottische." 

"Oh,  you're  just  saying  that  because  you  know  I'm 
mad,"  said  Mandy,  slightly  mollified. 

"Not  at  all.  I  firmly  believe  it.  I  saw  you  try  a  schot- 
tische to-night  with  Perkins  and — " 

"Oh,  shucks!"  said  Mandy.  "He  don't  give  me  no 
show.  He  gets  mad  when  I  tramp  on  him." 

"All  you  want  is  practise,  Mandy,"  replied  Cameron. 

"Oh,  I  ain't  got  no  one  to  show  me,"  said  Mandy. 
"Perkins  he  won't  be  bothered,  and — and — there's  no 
one  else,"  she  added  shyly. 

"Why,  I — I  would  show  you,"  replied  Cameron,  every 
instinct  of  chivalry  demanding  that  he  should  play  up 
to  her  lead,  "if  I  had  any  opportunity." 

"When?"  said  Mandy  simply. 

"When?"  echoed  Cameron,  taken  aback.  "Why,  the 
first  chance  we  get." 

As  he  spoke  the  word  they  reached  the  new  bridge 
that  crossed  the  deep  ditch  that  separated  the  lane  from 
the  high  road. 


A    RAINY    DAY  217 

"Here's  a  good  place  right  here  on  this  bridge,"  said 
Mandy  with  a  giggle. 

"But  we  have  no  music,"  stammered  Cameron,  aghast 
at  the  prospect  of  a  dancing  lesson  by  moonlight  upon 
the  public  highway. 

"Oh,  pshaw!"  said  Mandy.  "We  don't  need  music. 
You  can  just  count.  I  seen  Isa  showin'  Mack  once  and 
they  didn't  have  no  music.  But,"  she  added,  regarding 
Cameron  with  suspicion,  "if  you  don't  want  to — " 

"Oh,  I  shall  be  glad  to,  but  wouldn't  the  porch  be 
better?"  he  replied  in  desperation. 

"The  porch!  That's  so,"  assented  Mandy  eagerly. 
"Let's  hurry  before  the  rest  come  home."  So  saying, 
she  set  off  at  a  great  pace,  followed  by  Cameron  ruefully 
wondering  to  what  extent  the  lesson  in  the  Terpsichorean 
art  might  be  expected  to  go. 

As  soon  as  the  porch  was  reached  Mandy  cried — 

"Now  let's  at  the  thing.  I'm  going  to  learn  that  schot- 
tische  if  it  costs  a  leg." 

Without  stopping  to  enquire  whose  leg  might  be  in 
peril,  Cameron  proceeded  with  his  lesson,  and  he  had 
not  gone  through  many  paces  till  he  began  to  recognise 
the  magnitude  of  the  task  laid  upon  him.  The  girl's 
sense  of  time  was  accurate  enough,  but  she  was  un- 
deniably awkward  and  clumsy  in  her  movements  and 
there  was  an  almost  total  absence  of  coordination  of 
muscle  and  brain.  She  had,  however,  suffered  too  long 
and  too  keenly  from  her  inability  to  join  with  the  others 
in  the  dance  to  fail  to  make  the  best  of  her  opportunity 
to  relieve  herself  of  this  serious  disability. 

So,  with  fierce  industry  she  poised,  counted  and 
hopped,  according  to  Cameron's  instructions  and  ex- 
ample, with  never  a  sign  of  weariness,  but  alas  with 
little  indication  of  progress. 


218  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

"Oh,  shucks !  I  can't  do  it !"  she  cried  at  length,  paus- 
ing in  despair.  "I  think  we  could  do  it  better  together. 
That's  the  way  Mack  and  Isa  do  it.  I've  seen  them  at 
it  for  an  hour." 

Cameron's  heart  sank  within  him.  He  had  caught 
an  exchange  of  glances  between  the  two  young  people 
mentioned  and  he  could  quite  understand  how  a  lesson 
in  the  intricacies  of  the  Highland  schottische  might 
very  well  be  extended  over  an  hour  to  their  mutual  sat- 
isfaction, but  he  shrank  with  a  feeling  of  dismay,  if  not 
disgust,  from  a  like  experience  with  the  girl  before  him. 

He  was  on  the  point  of  abruptly  postponing  the  lesson 
when  his  eye  fell  upon  her  face  as  she  stood  in  the  moon- 
light which  streamed  in  through  the  open  door.  Was 
it  the  mystic  alchemy  of  the  moon  on  her  face,  or  was 
it  the  glowing  passion  in  her  wonderful  eyes  that  trans- 
figured the  coarse  features?  A  sudden  pity  for  the  girl 
rose  in  Cameron's  heart  and  he  said  gently,  "We  will 
try  it  together,  Mandy." 

He  took  her  hand,  put  his  arm  about  her  wraist,  but, 
as  he  drew  her  towards  him,  with  a  startled  look  in  her 
eyes  she  shrank  back  saying  hurriedly : 

"I  guess  I  won't  bother  you  any  more  to-night.  You've 
been  awfully  good  to  me.  You're  tired." 

"Not  a  bit,  Mandy,  come  along,"  replied  Cameron 
briskly. 

At  that  moment  a  shadow  fell  upon  the  square  of 
moonlight  on  the  floor.  Mandy  started  back  with  a  cry. 

"My!  you  scairt  me.  We  were — Allan — Mr.  Cam- 
eron was  learnin'  me  the  Highland  schottische."  Her 
face  and  her  voice  were  full  of  fear. 

It  was  Perkins.  White,  silent,  and  rigid,  he  stood 
regarding  them,  for  minutes,  it  seemed,  then  turned 
away. 


A   RAINY    DAY  219 

"Let's  finish,"  said  Cameron  quietly. 

"Oh !  no,  no !"  said  Mandy  in  a  low  voice.  "He's  awful 
mad!  I'm  scairt  to  death!  He'll  do  something!  Oh! 
dear,  dear !  He's  awful  when  he  gets  mad." 

"Nonsense !"  said  Cameron.    "He  can't  hurt  you." 

"No,  but  you !" 

"Oh,  don't  worry  about  me.    He  won't  hurt  me." 

Cameron's  tone  arrested  the  girl's  attention. 

"But  promise  me — promise  me !"  she  cried,  "that  you 
won't  touch  him."  She  clutched  his  arm  in  a  fierce 

grip. 

"Certainly  I  won't  touch  him,"  said  Cameron  easily, 
"if  he  behaves  himself."  But  in  his  heart  he  was  con- 
scious of  a  fierce  desire  that  Perkins  would  give  him 
the  opportunity  to  wipe  out  a  part  at  least  of  the  accu- 
mulated burden  of  insult  he  had  been  forced  to  bear 
during  the  last  three  weeks. 

"Oh!"  wailed  Mandy,  wringing  her  hands.  "I  know 
you're  going  to  fight  him.  I  don't  want  you  to!  Do 
you  hear  me?"  she  cried,  suddenly  gripping  Cameron 
again  by  the  arm  and  shaking  him.  "I  don't  want  you 
to!  Promise  me  you  won't!"  She  was  in  a  transport 
of  fear. 

"Oh,  this  is  nonsense,  Mandy,"  said  Cameron,  laugh- 
ing at  her.  "There  won't  be  any  fight.  I'll  run  away." 

"All  right,"  replied  the  girl  quietly,  releasing  his  arm. 
"Remember  you  promised."  She  turned  from  him. 

"Good  night,  Mandy.  We  will  finish  our  lesson  an- 
other time,  eh?"  he  said  cheerfully. 

"Good  night,"  replied  Mandy,  dully,  and  passed 
through  the  kitchen  and  into  the  house. 

Cameron  watched  her  go,  then  poured  for  himself  a 
glass  of  milk  from  a  pitcher  that  always  stood  upon 
the  table  for  any  who  might  be  returning  home  late  at 


220  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

night,  and  drank  it  slowly,  pondering  the  situation  the 
while. 

"What  a  confounded  mess  it  is!"  he  said  to  himself. 
"I  feel  like  cutting  the  whole  thing.  By  Jove!  That 
girl  is  getting  on  my  nerves!  And  that  infernal 
bounder!  She  seems  to —  Poor  girl!  I  wonder  if  he 
has  got  any  hold  on  her.  It  would  be  the  greatest  satis- 
faction in  the  world  to  teach  him  a  few  things  too. 
But  I  have  made  up  my  mind  that  I  am  not  going  to 
end  up  my  time  here  with  any  row,  and  I'll  stick  to 
that;  unless — "  and,  with  a  tingling  in  his  fingers,  he 
passed  out  into  the  moonlight. 

As  he  stepped  out  from  the  door  a  dark  mass  hurled 
itself  at  him,  a  hand  clutched  at  his  throat,  missed  as 
he  swiftly  dodged  back,  and  carried  away  his  collar. 
It  was  Perkins,  his  face  distorted,  his  white  teeth  show- 
ing in  a  snarl  as  of  a  furious  beast.  Again  with  a  beast- 
like  growl  he  sprang,  and  again  Cameron  avoided  him ; 
while  Perkins,  missing  his  clutch,  stumbled  over  a  block 
of  wood  and  went  crashing  head  first  among  a  pile  of 
pots  and  pans  and,  still  unable  to  recover  himself  and 
wildly  grasping  whatever  chanced  to  be  within  reach, 
fell  upon  the  board  that  stood  against  the  corner  of 
the  porch  to  direct  the  rain  into  the  tub ;  but  the  unstable 
board  slid  slowly  down  and  allowed  the  unfortunate 
Perkins  to  come  sitting  in  the  tub  full  of  water. 

"Very  neatly  done,  Perkins!"  cried  Cameron,  whose 
anger  at  the  furious  attack  was  suddenly  transformed 
into  an  ecstasy  of  delight  at  seeing  the  plight  of  his 
enemy. 

Like  a  cat  Perkins  was  on  his  feet  and,  without  a 
single  moment's  pause,  came  on  again  in  silent  fury. 
By  an  evil  chance  there  lay  in  his  path  the  splitting 
axe,  gleaming  in  the  moonlight.  Uttering  a  low  choking 


A    RAINY    DAY  221 

cry,  as  of  joy,  he  seized  the  axe  and  sprang  towards  his 
foe.  Quicker  than  thought  Cameron  picked  up  a  heavy 
arm  chair  that  stood  near  the  porch  to  use  it  as  a 
shield  against  the  impending  attack. 

"Are  you  mad,  Perkins?"  he  cried,  catching  the  ter- 
rific blow  that  came  crashing  down,  upon  the  chair. 

Then,  filled  with  indignant  rage  at  the  murderous 
attack  upon  him,  and  suddenly  comprehending  the 
desperate  nature  of  the  situation,  he  sprang  at  his 
antagonist,  thrusting  the  remnants  of  the  chair  in  his 
face  and,  following  hard  and  fast  upon  him,  pushed 
him  backward  and  still  backward  till,  tripping  once 
more,  he  fell  supine  among  the  pots  and  pans.  Seizing 
the  axe  that  had  dropped  from  his  enemy's  hand,  Cam- 
eron hurled  it  far  beyond  the  wood  pile  and  then  stood 
waiting,  a  cold  and  deadly  rage  possessing  him. 

"Come  on,  you  dog !"  he  said  through  his  shut  teeth. 
"You  have  been  needing  this  for  some  time  and  now 
you'll  get  it." 

"What  is  it,  Joe?" 

Cameron  quickly  turned  and  saw  behind  him  Mandy, 
her  face  blanched,  her  eyes  wide,  and  her  voice  faint 
with  terror. 

"Oh,  nothing  much,"  said  Cameron,  struggling  to 
recover  himself.  "Perkins  stumbled  over  the  tub  among 
the  pots  and  pans  there.  He  made  a  great  row,  too," 
he  continued  with  a  laugh,  striving  to  get  his  voice 
under  control. 

"What  is  it,  Joe?"  repeated  Mandy,  approaching  Per- 
kins. But  Perkins  stood  leaning  against  the  corner  of 
the  porch  in  a  kind  of  dazed  silence. 

"You've  been  fighting,"  she  said,  turning  upon  Cam- 
eron. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Cameron  lightly,  "but,  if  you  must 


222  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

know,  Perkins  went  stumbling  among  these  pots  and 
pans  and  finally  sat  down  in  the  tub;  and  naturally  he 
is  mad." 

"Is  that  true,  Joe?"  said  Handy,  moving  slowly  nearer 
him. 

"Oh,  shut  up,  Mandy !  I'm  all  wet,  that's  all,  and  I'm 
going  to  bed." 

His  voice  was  faint  as  though  he  were  speaking  with 
an  effort. 

"You  go  into  the  house,"  he  said  to  the  girl.  "I've 
got  something  to  say  to  Cameron  here." 

"You  are  quarreling." 

"Oh,  give  us  a  rest,  Mandy,  and  get  out !  No,  there's 
no  quarreling,  but  I  want  to  have  a  talk  with  Cameron 
about  something.  G-o  on,  now!" 

For  a  few  moments  she  hesitated,  looking  from  one 
to  the  other. 

"It's  all  right,  Mandy,"  said  Cameron  quietly.  "You 
needn't  be  afraid,  there  won't  be  any  trouble." 

For  a  moment  more  she  stood,  then  quietly  turned 
away. 

"Wait!"  said  Perkins  to  Cameron,  and  followed 
Mandy  into  the  house.  For  some  minutes  Cameron 
stood  waiting. 

"Now,  you  murderous  brute!"  he  said,  when  Perkins 
reappeared.  "Come  down  to  the  barn  where  no  girl 
can  interfere."  He  turned  towards  the  barn. 

"Hold  on!"  said.  Perkins,  breathing  heavily.  "Not 
to-night.  I  want  to  say  something.  She's  waiting  to 
see  me  go  upstairs." 

Cameron  came  back. 

"What  have  you  got  to  say,  you  cur?"  he  asked  in 
a  voice  filled  with  a  cold  and  deliberate  contempt. 

"Don't  you  call  no  names,"  replied  Perkins.    "It  ain't 


A   RAINY    DAY  223 

no  use."  His  voice  was  low,  trembling,  but  gravely 
earnest.  "Bay,  I  might  have  killed  you  to-night."  His 
breath  was  still  coming  in  quick  short  gasps. 

"You  tried  your  best,  you  dog !"  said  Cameron. 

"Don't  you  call  no  names,"  panted  Perkins  again. 
"I  might — a — killed  yeh.  I'm  mighty — glad — I  didn't." 
He  spoke  like  a  man  who  had  had  a  great  deliverance. 
"But  don't  yeh,"  here  his  teeth  snapped  like  a  dog's, 
"don't  yeh  ever  go  foolin'  with  that  girl  again.  Don't 
yeh — ever — do  it.  I  seen  yeh  huggin*  her  in  there  and 
I  tell  yeh — I  tell  yeh — ,"  his  breath  began  to  come  in 
sobs,  "I  won't  stand  it — I'll  kill  yeh,  sure  as  God's  in 
heaven." 

"Are  you  mad?"  said  Cameron,  scanning  narrowly 
the  white  distorted  face. 

"Mad?  Yes,  I  guess  so — I  dunno — but  don't  yeh  do 
it,  that's  all.  She's  mine!  Mine!  D'yeh  hear?" 

He  stepped  forward  and  thrust  his  snarling  face  into 
Cameron's. 

"No,  I  ain't  go  in'  to  touch  yeh,"  as  Cameron  stepped 
back  into  a  posture  of  defense,  "not  to-night.  Some 
day,  perhaps."  Here  again  his  teeth  came  together  with 
a  snap.  "But  I'm  not  going  to  have  you  or  any  other 
man  cutting  in  on  me  with  that  girl.  D'yeh  hear  me?" 
and  he  lifted  a  trembling  forefinger  and  thrust  it  almost 
into  Cameron's  face. 

Cameron  stood  regarding  him  in  silent  a*nd  contemp- 
tuous amazement.  Neither  of  them  saw  a  dark  form 
standing  back  out  of  the  moonlight,  inside  the  door.  At 
last  Cameron  spoke. 

"Now  what  the  deuce  does  all  this  mean?"  he  said 
slowly.  "Is  this  girl  by  any  unhappy  chance  engaged 
to  you?" 

"Yes,  she  is — or  was  as  good  as,  till  you  came;  but  you 


224  COEPOEAL    CAMEEON 

listen  to  me.  As  God  hears  me  up  there" — he  raised 
his  shaking  hand  and  pointed  up  to  the  moonlit  sky, 
and  then  went  on,  chewing  on  his  words  like  a  dog  on 
a  bone — "I'll  cut  the  heart  out  of  your  body  if  I  catch 
you  monkeying  round  that  girl  again.  You've  got  to 
get  out  of  here !  Everything  was  all  right  till  you  came 
sneaking  in.  You've  got  to  get  out!  You've  got  to 
get  out !  D'yeh  hear  me?  You've  got  to  get  out !" 

His  voice  was  rising,  mad  rage  was  seizing  him  again, 
his  fingers  were  opening  and  shutting  like  a  man  in  a 
death  agony. 

Cameron  glanced  towards  the  door. 

"I'm  done,"  said  Perkins,  noting  the  glance.  "That's 
my  last  word.  You'd  better  quit  this  job."  His  voice 
again  took  on  an  imploring  tone.  "You'd  better  go  or 
something  will  sure  happen  to  you.  Nobody  will  miss 
you  much,  except  perhaps  Mandy."  His  ghastly  face 
twisted  into  a  snarling  smile,  his  eyes  appeared  glazed 
in  the  moonlight,  his  voice  was  husky — the  man  seemed 
truly  insane. 

Cameron  stood  observing  him  quietly  when  he  had 
ceased  speaking. 

"Are  you  finished?  Then  hear  me.  First,  in  regard 
to  this  girl,  she  doesn't  want  me  and  I  don't  want  her, 
but  make  up  your  mind,  I  promise  you  to  do  all  I  can 
to  prevent  her  falling  into  the  hands  of  a  brute  like  you. 
Then  as  to  leaving  this  place,  I  shall  go  just  when  it 
suits  me,  no  sooner." 

"All  right,"  said  Perkins,  his  voice  low  and  trembling. 
"All  right,  mind  I  warned  you!  Mind  I  warned  you! 
But  if  you  go  foolin'  with  that  girl,  I'll  kill  yeh,  so  help 
me  God." 

These  words  he  uttered  with  the  solemnity  of  an  oath 
and  turned  towards  the  porch.  A  dark  figure  flitted 


A    RAINY    DAY  225 

across  the  kitchen  and  disappeared  into  the  house. 
Cameron  walked  slowly  towards  the  barn. 

"He's  mad.  He's  clean  daffy,  but  none  the  less  dan- 
gerous," he  said  to  himself.  "What  a  rotten  mess  all 
this  is!"  he  added  in  disgust.  "By  Jove!  The  whole 
thing  isn't  worth  while." 

But  as  he  thought  of  Mandy's  frightened  face  and 
imploring  eyes  and  the  brutal  murderous  face  of  the 
man  who  claimed  her  as  his  own,  he  said  between  his 
teeth: 

"No,  I  won't  quit  now.  I'll  see  this  thing  through, 
whatever  it  costs,"  and  with  this  resolve  he  set  himself 
to  the  business  of  getting  to  sleep ;  in  which,  after  many 
attempts,  he  was  at  length  successful. 


226  CORPORAL    CAMERON 


CHAPTER  V 

HOW  THEY  SAVED  THE  DAY 

THERE  never  was  such,  a  Dominion  Day  for 
weather  since  the  first  Dominion  Day  was  born. 
Of  this  "Fatty"  Freeman  was  fully  assured. 
Fatty  Freeman  was  a  young  man  for  whose  opinion 
older  men  were  accustomed  to  wait.  His  person  more 
than  justified  his  praenomen,  for  Mr.  Harper  Freeman, 
Jr.,  was  undeniably  fat.  "Fat,  but  fine  and  frisky,"  was 
ever  his  own  comment  upon  the  descriptive  adjective  by 
which,  his  friends  distinguished  him.  And  fine  and 
frisky  he  was;  fine  in  his  appreciation  of  good  eating, 
fine  in  his  judgment  of  good  cattle  and  fine  in  his  esti- 
mate of  men;  frisky,  too,  and  utterly  irrepressible. 
"Harp's  just  like  a  young  pup,"  his  own  father,  the 
Reverend  Harper  Freeman,  the  old  Methodist  minister 
of  the  Maplehill  circuit,  used  to  say.  "If  Harp  had  a  tail 
he  would  never  do  anything  but  play  with  it."  On  this, 
however,  it  is  difficult  to  hold  any  well  based  opinion. 
Ebullient  in  his  spirits,  he  radiated  cheeriness  wherever 
he  went  and  was  at  the  bottom  of  most  of  the  practical 
jokes  that  kept  the  village  of  Maplehill  in  a  state  of 
ferment ;  yet  if  any  man  thought  to  turn  a  sharp  corner 
in  business  with.  Mr.  Harper  Freeman,  Jr.,  he  invariably 
found  that  frisky  individual  waiting  for  him  round  the 
corner  with  a  cheery  smile  of  welcome,  shrewd  and 
disconcerting.  It  was  this  cheery  shrewdness  of  his 
that  made  him  the  most  successful  cattle  buyer  in  the 
county  and  at  the  same  time  secretary  of  the  Middlesex 
Caledonian  Society.  As  secretary  of  this  society  he  was 
made  chiefly  responsible  for  the  success  of  the  Dominion 


HOW    THEY    SAVED    THE    DAY        227 

Day  picnic  and,  as  with  everything  that  he  took  hold 
of,  Fatty  toiled  at  the  business  of  preparation  for  this 
picnic  with  conscientious  zeal,  giving  to  it  all  his  spare 
hours  and  many  of  his  working  hours  for  the  three 
months  preceding. 

It  was  due  solely  to  his  efforts  that  so  many  distin- 
guished county  magnates  appeared  eager  to  lend  their 
patronage.  It  needed  but  a  little  persuasion  to  secure 
the  enthusiastic  support  of  the  Honourable  J.  J.  Patter- 
son, M.P.P.,  and,  incidentally,  the  handsome  challenge 
cup  for  hammer-throwing,  for  the  honourable  member 
of  Parliament  was  a  full-blooded  Highlander  himself 
and  an  ardent  supporter  of  "the  games."  But  only 
Fatty  Freeman's  finesse  could  have  extracted  from 
Dr.  Kane,  the  Opposition  candidate  for  Provincial  Par- 
liamentary honours,  the  cup  for  the  hundred  yards  race, 
and  other  cups  from  other  individuals  more  or  less 
deeply  interested  in  Dominion,  Provincial,  and  Muni- 
cipal politics.  The  prize  list  secured,  it  needed  only  a 
skillful  manipulation  of  the  local  press  and  a  judicious 
but  persistent  personal  correspondence  to  swell  the 
ranks  of  the  competitors  in  the  various  events,  and 
thus  ensure  a  monster  attendance  of  the  people  from 
the  neighbouring  townships  and  from  the  city  near  by. 

The  weather  being  assured,  Fatty's  anxieties  were 
mostly  allayed,  for  he  had  on  the  file  in  his  office  accept- 
ance letters  from  the  distinguished  men  who  were  to  cast 
the  spell  of  their  oratory  over  the  assembled  multitude, 
as  also  from  the  big  men  in  the  athletic  world  who  had 
entered  for  the  various  events  in  the  programme  of 
sports.  It  was  a  master  stroke  of  diplomacy  that  re- 
sulted in  the  securing  for  the  hammer-throwing  con- 
test the  redoubtable  and  famous  Duncan  Ross  of  Zorra, 
who  had  at  first  disdained  the  bait  of  the  Maplehill 


228  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

Dominion  Day  picnic,  but  in  some  mysterious  way  had 
at  length  been  hooked  and  landed.  For  Duncan  was  a 
notable  man  and  held  the  championship  of  the  Zorras ; 
and  indeed  in  all  Ontario  he  was  second  only  to  the 
world-famous  Rory  Maclennan  of  Glengarry,  who  had 
been  to  Braemar  itself  and  was  beaten  there  only  by 
a  fluke.  How  he  came  to  agree  to  be  present  at  the 
Maplehill  picnic  "Black  Duncan"  could  not  quite  under- 
stand, but  had  he  compared  notes  with  McGee,  the 
champion  of  the  London  police  force  and  of  various 
towns  and  cities  of  the  western  peninsula,  he  would 
doubtless  have  received  some  enlightenment.  To  the 
skill  of  the  same  master  hand  was  due  the  appearance 
upon  the  racing  list  of  the  Dominion  Day  picnic  of  such 
distinguished  names  as  Cahill  of  London,  Fullerton  of 
Woodstock,  and  especially  of  Eugene  La  Belle  of  no- 
where in  particular,  who  held  the  provincial  champion- 
ship for  skating  and  was  a  runner  of  provincial  fame. 

In  the  racing  Fatty  was  particularly  interested  be- 
cause his  young  brother  Wilbur,  of  whom  he  was  un- 
commonly proud,  a  handsome  lad,  swift  and  graceful 
as  a  deer,  was  to  make  his  first  essay  for  more  than 
local  honours. 

The  lists  for  the  other  events  were  equally  well  filled 
and  every  detail  of  the  arrangements  for  the  day  had 
passed  under  the  secretary's  personal  review.  The  feed- 
ing of  the  multitude  was  in  charge  of  the  Methodist 
Ladies'  Aid,  an  energetic  and  exceptionally  businesslike 
organization,  which  fully  expected  to  make  sufficient 
profit  from  the  enterprise  to  clear  off  the  debt  from 
their  church  at  Maplehill,  an  achievement  greatly  de- 
sired not  only  by  the  ladies  themselves  but  by  their 
minister,  the  Reverend  Harper  Freeman,  now  in  the 
third  year  of  his  incumbency.  The  music  was  to  be  fur- 


HOW    THEY    SAVED    THE    DAY        229 

nished  by  the  Band  of  the  Seventh  from  London  and 
by  no  less  a  distinguished  personage  than  Piper  Suther- 
land himself  from  Zorra,  former  Pipe  Major  of  "The 
old  Forty-twa."  The  discovery  of  another  piper  in  Cam- 
eron brought  joy  to  the  secretary's  heart,  who  only 
regretted  that  an  earlier  discovery  had  not  rendered 
possible  a  pipe  competition. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  the  crowds  began  to  gather  to 
MacBurney's  woods,  a  beautiful  maple  grove  lying  mid- 
way between  the  Haleys'  farm  and  Maplehill  village, 
about  two  miles  distant  from  each.  The  grove  of  noble 
maple  trees  overlooking  a  grassy  meadow  provided  an 
ideal  spot  for  picnicking,  furnishing  as  it  did  both  shade 
from  the  sun  and  a  fine  open  space  with  firm  footing 
for  the  contestants  in  the  games.  High  over  a  noble 
maple  in  the  centre  of  the  grassy  meadow  floated  the 
Bed  Ensign  of  the  Empire,  which,  with  the  Canadian 
coat  of  arms  on  the  fly,  by  common  usage  had  become 
the  national  flag  of  Canada.  From  the  great  trees  the 
swings  were  hung,  and  under  their  noble  spreading 
boughs  were  placed  the  tables,  and  the  platform  for  the 
speech  making  and  the  dancing,  while  at  the  base  of 
the  encircling  hills  surrounding  the  grassy  meadow, 
hard  by  the  grove  another  platform  was  placed,  from 
which  distinguished  visitors  might  view  with  ease  and 
comfort  the  contests  upon  the  campus  immediately 
adjacent. 

Through  the  fence,  let  down  for  the  purpose,  the 
people  drove  in  from  the  high  road.  They  came  in  top 
buggies  and  in  lumber  wagons,  in  democrats  and  in 
"three  seated  rigs,"  while  from  the  city  came  a  "four- 
in-hand"  with  McGee,  Cahill,  and  their  backers,  as  well 
as  other  carriages  filled  with  good  citizens  of  London 
drawn  thither  by  the  promise  of  a  day's  sport 


230  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

of  more  than  usual  excellence  or  by  the  lure  of  a  day 
in  the  woods  and  fields  of  God's  open  country.  A 
specially  fine  carriage  and  pair,  owned  and  driven  by 
the  honourable  member  of  Parliament  himself,  con- 
veyed Piper  Sutherland,  with  colours  streaming  and 
pipes  playing,  to  the  picnic  grounds.  Warmly  was  the 
old  piper  welcomed,  not  only  by  the  frisky  cheery  secre- 
tary, but  by  many  old  friends,  and  by  none  more  warmly 
than  by  the  Reverend  Alexander  Munro,  the  douce  old 
bachelor  Presbyterian  minister  of  Maplehill,  a  great 
lover  of  the  pipes  and  a  special  friend  of  Piper  Suther- 
land. But  the  welcome  was  hardly  over  when  once  more 
the  sound  of  the  pipes  was  heard  far  up  the  side  line. 

"Surely  that  will  be  Gunn,"  said  Mr.  Munro. 

Sutherland  listened  for  a  minute  or  two. 

"No,  it  iss  not  Gunn.  Iss  Ross  coming?  No,  yon 
iss  not  Ross.  That  will  be  a  stranger,"  he  continued, 
turning  to  the  secretary,  but  the  secretary  remained 
silent,  enjoying  the  old  man's  surprise  and  perplexity. 

"Man,  that  iss  not  so  bad  piping !  Not  so  bad  at  all ! 
Who  iss  it?"  he  added  with  some  impatience,  turning 
upon  the  secretary  again. 

"Oh,  that's  Haley's  team  and  I  guess  that's  his  hired 
man,  a  young  fellow  just  out  from  Scotland,"  replied 
the  secretary  indifferently.  "I  am  no  great  judge  of 
the  pipes  myself,  but  he  strikes  me  as  a  crackajack 
and  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  he  would  make  you  all 
sit  up." 

But  the  old  piper's  ear  was  closed  to  his  words  and 
open  only  to  the  strains  of  music  ever  drawing  nearer. 

"Aye,  yon's  a  piper !"  he  said  at  length  with  emphasis. 
"Yon's  a  piper!" 

"I  only  wish  I  had  discovered  him  in  time  for  a  com- 
petition," said  Fatty  regretfully. 


HOW    THEY    SAVED    THE    DAY        231 

"Aye,"  said  Sutherland.  "Yon's  a  piper  worth  play- 
ing against." 

And  very  brave  and  gallant  young  Cameron  looked 
as  Tim  swung  his  team  through  the  fence  and  up  to 
the  platform  under  the  trees  where  the  great  ones  of 
the  people  were  standing  in  groups.  They  were  all 
there,  Patterson  the  M.P.P.,  and  Dr.  Kane  the  Opposi- 
tion candidate,  Eeeve  Robertson,  for  ten  years  the  Muni- 
cipal head  of  his  county,  Inspector  Grant,  a  little  man 
with  a  massive  head  and  a  luminous  eye,  Patterson's 
understudy  and  generally  regarded  as  his  successor  in 
Provincial  politics,  the  Reverend  Harper  Freeman, 
Methodist  minister,  tall  and  lank,  with  shrewd  kindly 
face  and  a  twinkling  eye,  the  Reverend  Alexander 
Munro,  the  Presbyterian  minister,  solid  and  sedate,  slow 
to  take  fire  but  when  kindled  a  very  furnace  for  heat. 
These,  with  their  various  wives  and  daughters,  such  as 
had  them,  and  many  others  less  notable  but  no  less 
important,  constituted  a  sort  of  informal  reception  com- 
mittee under  Fatty  Freeman's  general  direction  and 
management.  And  here  and  there  and  everywhere 
crowds  of  young  men  and  maidens,  conspicuous  among 
the  latter  Isa  MacKenzie  and  her  special  friends,  made 
merry  with  each  other,  as  brave  and  gallant  a  company 
of  sturdy  sun-browned  youths  and  bonnie  wholesome 
lassies  as  any  land  or  age  could  ever  show. 

"Look  at  them!"  cried  the  Reverend  Harper  Free- 
man, waving  his  hand  toward  the  kaleidoscopic  gather- 
ing. "There's  your  Dominion  Day  oration  for  you,  Mr. 
Patterson." 

"Most  of  it  done  in  brown,  too,"  chuckled  his  son, 
Harper  Freeman,  Jr. 

"Yes,  and  set  in  jewels  and  gold,"  replied  his 
father. 


232  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

"You  hold  over  me,  Dad!"  cried  his  son.  "Here!" 
he  called  to  Cameron,  who  was  standing  aloof  from  the 
others.  "Come  and  meet  a  brother  Scot  and  a  brother 
piper,  Mr.  Sutherland  from  Zorra,  though  to  your 
ignorant  Scottish  ear  that  means  nothing,  but  to  every 
intelligent  Canadian,  Zorra  stands  for  all  that's  finest 
in  brain  and  brawn  in  Canada." 

"And  it  takes  both  to  play  the  pipes,  eh,  Sutherland?" 
said  the  M.P.P. 

"Oh  aye,  but  mostly  wind,"  said  the  piper. 

"Just  like  politics,  eh,  Mr.  Patterson?"  said  the  Rev- 
erend Harper  Freeman. 

"Yes,  or  like  preaching,"  replied  the  M.P.P. 

"One  on  you,  Dad !"  said  the  irrepressible  Fatty. 

Meantime  Sutherland  was  warmly  complimenting 
Cameron  on  his  playing. 

"You  haf  been  well  taught,"  he  said. 

"No  one  taught  me,"  said  Cameron.  "But  we  had  a 
famous  old  piper  at  home  in  our  Glen,  Macpherson  was 
his  name." 

"Macpherson!  Did  he  effer  play  at  the  Braemar 
gathering?"  * 

"Yes,  but  Maclennan  beat  him." 

"Maclennan !  I  haf  heard  him."  The  tone  was  quite 
sufficient  to  classify  the  unhappy  Maclennan.  "And  I 
haf  heard  Macpherson  too.  Yon  iss  a  player.  None  of 
the  fal-de-rals  of  your  modern  players,  but  grand  and 
mighty." 

"I  agree  with  you  entirely,"  replied  Cameron,  his 
heart  warming  at  the  praise  of  his  old  friend  of  the 
Glen  Cuagh  Oir.  "But,"  he  added,  "Maclennan  is  a 
great  player  too." 

"A  great  player?  Yes  and  no.  He  has  the  fingers 
and  the  notes,  but  he  iss  not  the  beeg  man.  It  iss  the 


HOW    THEY    SAVED    THE    DAY        233 

soul  that  breathes  through  the  chanter.  The  soul!" 
Here  he  gripped  Cameron  by  the  arm.  "Man!  it  iss 
like  praying.  A  beeg  man  will  neffer  show  himself  in 
small  things,  but  when  he  will  be  in  communion  with 
his  Maker  or  when  he  will  be  pouring  out  his  soul  in 
a  pibroch  then  the  beegness  of  the  man  will  be  manifest. 
Aye,"  continued  the  piper,  warming  to  his  theme  and 
encouraged  by  the  eager  sympathy  of  his  listener,  "and 
not  only  the  beegness  but  the  quality  of  the  soul.  A 
mean  man  can  play  the  pipes,  but  he  can  neffer  be  a 
piper.  It  iss  only  a  beeg  man  and  a  fine  man  and,  I 
will  venture  to  say,  a  good  man,  and  there  are  not  many 
men  can  be  pipers." 

"Aye,  Mr.  Sutherland,"  broke  in  the  Reverend  Alex- 
ander Munro,  "what  you  say  is  true,  but  it  is  true  not 
only  of  piping.  It  is  true  surely  of  anything  great 
enough  to  express  the  deepest  emotions  of  the  soul.  A 
man  is  never  at  his  best  in  anything  till  he  is  expressing 
his  noblest  self." 

"For  instance  in  preaching,  eh !"  said  Dr.  Kane. 

"Aye,  in  preaching  or  in  political  oratory,"  replied 
the  minister. 

At  this,  however,  the  old  piper  shook  his  head  doubt- 
fully. 

"You  do  not  agree  with  Mr.  Munro  in  that?"  said  the 
M.P.P. 

"No,"  replied  Sutherland,  "speaking  iss  one  thing, 
piping  iss  another." 

"And  that  is  no  lie,  and  a  mighty  good  thing  too  it 
is,"  said  Dr.  Kane  flippantly. 

"It  iss  no  lie,"  replied  the  old  piper  with  dignity. 
"And  if  you  knew  much  about  either  of  them  you  would 
say  it  deeferently." 

"Why,  what  is  the  difference,  Mr.  Sutherland?"  said 


234  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

Dr.  Kane,  anxious  to  appease  the  old  man.  "They  both 
are  means  of  expressing  the  emotions  of  the  soul,  you 
say." 

"The  deeference !  The  deeference  iss  it?  The  deefer- 
ence  iss  here,  that  the  pipes  will  neffer  lie." 

There  was  a  shout  of  laughter. 

"One  for  you,  Kane!"  cried  the  Reverend  Harper 
Freeman.  "And,"  he  continued  when  the  laughing  had 
ceased,  "we  will  have  to  take  our  share  too,  Mr.  Munro." 

But  the  hour  for  beginning  the  programme  had  ar- 
rived and  the  secretary  climbed  to  the  platform  to  an- 
nounce the  events  for  the  day. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen!"  he  cried,  in  a  high,  clear, 
penetrating  voice,  "the  speech  of  welcome  will  be  de- 
livered toward  the  close  of  the  day  by  the  president  of 
the  Middlesex  Caledonian  Society,  the  Honourable  J.  J. 
Patterson,  M.P.P.  My  duty  is  the  very  simple  one  of 
announcing  the  order  of  events  on  the  programme  and 
of  expressing  on  behalf  of  the  Middlesex  Caledonian 
Society  the  earnest  hopa  that  you  all  may  enjoy  the 
day,  and  that  each  event  on  the  programme  will  prove 
more  interesting  than  the  last.  The  programme  is  long 
and  varied  and  I  must  ask  your  assistance  to  put  it 
through  on  schedule  time.  First  there  are  the  athletic 
competitions.  I  shall  endeavour  to  assist  Dr.  Kane  and 
the  judges  in  running  these  through  without  unneces- 
sary and  annoying  delays.  Then  will  follow  piping, 
dancing,  and  feasting  in  their  proper  order,  after  which 
will  come  the  presentation  of  prizes  and  speeches  from 
our  distinguished  visitors.  On  the  platform  over  yonder 
there  are  places  for  the  speakers,  the  officials,  and  the 
guests  of  the  society,  but  such  is  the  very  excellent 
character  of  the  ground  that  all  can  be  accommodated 
with  grand  stand  seats.  One  disappointment,  and  one 


HOW    THEY    SAVED    THE    DAY        235 

only,  I  must  announce,  the  Band  of  the  Seventh,  Lon- 
don, cannot  be  with  us  to-day." 

"But  we  will  never  miss  them,"  interpolated  the  Kev- 
erend  Alexander  Munro  with  solemn  emphasis. 

"Exactly  so!"  continued  Fatty  when  the  laugh  had 
subsided.  "And  now  let's  all  go  in  for  a  good  old  time 
picnic,  'where  even  the  farmers  cease  from  grumbling 
and  the  preachers  take  a  rest.'  Now  take  your  places, 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  for  the  grand  parade  is  about  to- 
begin." 

The  programme  opened  with  the  one  hundred  yard 
flat  race.  For  this  race  there  were  four  entries,  Cahill 
from  London,  Fullerton  from  Woodstock,  La  Belle  from 
nowhere  in  particular,  and  Wilbur  Freeman  from 
Maplehill.  But  Wilbur  was  nowrhere  to  be  seen.  The 
secretary  came  breathless  to  the  platform. 

"Where's  Wilbur?"  he  asked  his  father. 

"Wilbur?  Surely  he  is  in  the  crowd,  or  in  the  tent 
perhaps." 

At  the  tent  the  secretary  found  his  brother  nursing 
a  twisted  ankle,  heart-sick  with  disappointment.  Early 
in  the  day  he  had  injured  his  foot  in  an  attempt  to 
fasten  a  swing  upon  a  tree.  Every  minute  since  that 
time  he  had  spent  in  rubbing  and  manipulating  the 
injured  member,  but  all  to  no  purpose.  While  the  pain 
was  not  great,  a  race  was  out  of  the  question.  The  sec- 
retary was  greatly  disturbed  and  as  nearly  wrathful  as 
ever  he  allowed  himself  to  become.  He  was  set  on  his 
brother  making  a  good  showing  in  this  race;  moreover, 
without  Wilbur  there  would  be  no  competitor  to  uphold 
the  honour  of  Maplehill  in  this  contest  and  this  would 
deprive  it  of  much  of  its  interest. 

"What  the  dickens  were  you  climbing  trees  for?"  he 
began  impatiently,  but  a  glance  at  his  young  brother's 


236  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

pale  and  woe-stricken  face  changed  his  wrath  to  pity. 
"Never  mind,  old  chap,"  he  said,  "better  luck  next  time, 
and  you  will  be  fitter  too." 

Back  he  ran  to  the  platform,  for  he  must  report  the 
dismal  news  to  his  mother,  whose  chief  interest  in  the 
programme  for  the  day  lay  in  this  race  in  which  her 
latest  born  was  to  win  his  spurs.  The  cheery  secretary 
was  nearly  desperate.  It  was  an  ominous  beginning  for 
the  day's  sports.  What  should  he  do?  He  confided  his 
woe  to  Mack  and  Cameron,  who  were  standing  close  by 
the  platform. 

"It  will  play  the  very  mischief  with  the  programme. 
It  will  spoil  the  whole  day,  for  Wilbur  was  the  sole 
Maplehill  representative  in  the  three  races;  besides,  I 
believe  the  youngster  would  have  shown  up  well." 

"He  would  that!"  cried  Mack  heartily.  "He  was  a 
bird.  But  is  there  no  one  else  from  the  Hill  that  could 
enter?" 

"No,  no  one  with  a  chance  of  winning,  and  no  fellow 
likes  to  go  in  simply  to  be  beaten." 

"What  difference?"  said  Cameron.  "It's  all  in  a  day's 
sport." 

"That's  so,"  said  Mack.  "If  I  could  run  myself  I 
would  enter.  I  wonder  if  Danny  would — " 

"Danny!"  said  the  secretary  shortly.  "You  know 
better  than  that.  Danny's  too  shy  to  appear  before  this 
crowd  even  if  he  were  dead  sure  of  winning." 

"Say,  it  is  too  bad!"  continued  Mack,  as  the  magni- 
tude of  the  calamity  grew  upon  him.  "Surely  we  can 
find  some  one  to  make  an  appearance.  What  about 
yourself,  Cameron?  Did  you  ever  race?" 

"Some,"  said  Cameron.  "I  raced  last  year  at  the 
Athole  Games." 

Fatty  threw  himself  upon  him. 


237 


"Cameron,  you  are  my  man!  Do  you  want  to  save 
your  country,  and  perhaps  my  life,  certainly  my  repu- 
tation? Get  out  of  those  frills,"  touching  his  kilt,  "and 
I'll  get  a  suit  from  one  of  the  jumpers  for  you.  Go! 
Bless  your  soul,  anything  you  want  that's  mine  you 
can  have !  Only  hustle  for  dear  life's  sake !  Go !  Go ! 
Go!  Take  him  away,  Mack.  We'll  get  something  else 
on!" 

Fatty  actually  pushed  Cameron  clear  away  from  the 
platform  and  after  him  big  Mack. 

"There  seems  to  be  no  help  for  it,"  said  Cameron,  as 
they  went  to  the  tent  together. 

"It's  awful  good  of  you,"  replied  Mack,  "but  you  can 
see  how  hard  Fatty  takes  it,  though  it  is  not  a  bit  fair 
to  you." 

"Oh,  nobody  knows  me  here,"  said  Cameron,  "and  I 
don't  mind  being  a  victim." 

But  as  Mack  saw  him  get  into  his  jersey  and  shorts 
he  began  to  wonder  a  bit. 

"Man,  it  would  be  great  if  you  should  beat  yon 
Frenchman!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Frenchman?" 

"Yes!  La  Belle.  He  is  that  stuck  on  himself;  he 
thinks  he  is  a  winner  before  he  starts." 

"It's  a  good  way  to  think,  Mack.  Now  let  us  get  down 
into  the  woods  and  have  a  bit  of  a  practise  in  the  'get 
away.'  How  do  they  start  here?  With  a  pistol?" 

"No,"  replied  Mack.  "We  are  not  so  swell.  The 
starter  gives  the  word  this  way,  'All  set?  Go !' " 

"All  right,  Mack,  you  give  me  the  word  sharp.  I  am 
out  of  practise  and  I  must  get  the  idea  into  my  head." 

"You  are  great  on  the  idea,  I  see,"  replied  Mack. 

"Eight  you  are,  and  it  is  just  the  same  with  the 
hammer,  Mack." 


CORPORAL    CAMERON 


"Aye,  I  have  found  that  out." 

For  twenty  minutes  or  so  Cameron  practised  his  start 
and  at  every  attempt  Mack's  confidence  grew,  so  that 
when  he  brought  his  man  back  to  the  platform  he  an- 
nounced to  a  group  of  the  girls  standing  near,  "Don't 
say  anything,  but  I  have  the  winner  right  here  for  you." 

"Why,  Mr.  Cameron,"  cried  Isa,  "what  a  wonder 
you  are!  What  else  can  you  do?  You  are  a  piper,  a 
dancer,  a  hammer-thrower,  and  now  a  runner." 

"Jack-of-all-trades,"  laughed  Perkins,  who,  with 
Mandy,  was  standing  near. 

"Yes,  but  you  can't  say  'Master  of  none,' "  replied  Isa 
sharply. 

"Better  wait,"  said  Cameron.  "I  have  entered  this 
race  only  to  save  Mr.  Freeman  from  collapse." 

"Collapse?  Fatty?  He  couldn't,"  said  Isa  with 
emphasis. 

"Lass,  I  do  not  know,"  said  Mack  gravely.  "He 
looked  more  hollow  than  ever  I  have  seen  him  before." 

"Well,  we'll  all  cheer  for  you,  Mr.  Cameron,  anyway," 
cried  Isa.  "Won't  we,  girls?  Oh,  if  wishes  were  wings!" 

"Wings?"  said  Mandy,  with  a  puzzled  air.  "What 
for?  This  is  a  race." 

"Didn't  you  never  see  a  hen  run,  Mandy?"  laughed 
Perkins. 

"Yes,  I  have,  but  I  tell  you  Mr.  Cameron  ain't  no 
hen,"  replied  Mandy  angrily.  "And  more!  He's  going 
to  win." 

"Say,  Mandy,  that  is  the  talk,"  said  Mack,  when  the 
laugh  had  passed.  "Did  you  hear  yon?"  he  added  to 
Cameron. 

Cameron  nodded. 

"It  is  a  good  omen,"  he  said.  "I  am  going  to  do  my 
best." 


HOW    THEY    SAVED    THE    DAY        239 

"And,  by  Jingo !  if  you  only  had  a  chance,"  said  Mack, 
"I  believe  you  would  lick  them  all." 

At  this  Fatty  bustled  up. 

"All  ready,  eh?  Cameron,  I  shall  owe  you  something 
for  this.  La  Belle  kicked  like  a  steer  against  your  enter- 
ing at  the  last  minute.  It  is  against  the  rules,  you  know. 
But  he's  given  in." 

Fatty  did  not  explain  that  he  had  intimated  to  La 
Belle  that  there  was  no  need  for  anxiety  as  far  as  the 
"chap  from  the  old  country"  was  concerned;  he  was 
there  merely  to  fill  up. 

But  if  La  Belle's  fears  were  allayed  by  the  secretary's 
disparaging  description  of  the  latest  competitor,  they 
sprang  full  grown  into  life  again  when  he  saw  Cameron 
"all  set"  for  the  start,  and  more  especially  so  when  he 
heard  his  protest  against  the  Frenchman's  method  in 
the  "get  away." 

"I  want  you  to  notice,"  he  said  firmly  to  Dr.  Kane, 
who  was  acting  as  starter,  "that  this  man  gets  away 
with  the  word  'Go'  and  not  after  it.  It  is  an  old  trick, 
but  long  ago  played  out." 

Then  the  Frenchman  fell  into  a  rage. 

"Eet  ees  no  treeck !"  sputtered  La  Belle.  "Eet  ees  too 
queeck  for  him." 

"All  right!"  said  Dr.  Kane.  "You  are  to  start 
after  the  word  'Go.'  Kemember!  Sorry  we  have  no 
pistol." 

Once  more  the  competitors  crouched  over  the  scratch. 
,  "All  set?  Go!" 

Like  the  releasing  of  a  whirlwind  the  four  runners 
spring  from  the  scratch,  La  Belle,  whose  specialty  is 
his  "get  away,"  in  front,  Fullerton  and  Cameron  in 
second  place,  Cahill  a  close  third.  A  blanket  would 
cover  them  all.  A  tumult  of  cheers  from  the  friends 


240 


of  the  various  runners  follows  them  along  their  brief 
course. 

"Who  is  it?  Who  is  it?"  cries  Mandy  breathlessly, 
clutching  Mack  by  the  arm. 

"Cameron,  I  swear!"  roars  Mack,  pushing  his  way 
through  the  crowd  to  the  judges. 

"No!  No!  La  Belle!  La  Belle!"  cried  the  French- 
man's backers  from  the  city.  The  judges  are  apparently 
in  dispute. 

"I  swear  it  is  Cameron!"  roars  Mack  again  in  their 
ears,  his  eyes  aflame  and  his  face  alight  with  a  fierce 
and  triumphant  joy.  "It  is  Cameron  I  am  telling 
you !" 

"Oh,  get  out,  you  big  bluffer !"  cries  a  thin-faced  man, 
pressing  close  upon  the  judges.  "It  is  La  Belle  by  a 
mile!" 

"By  a  mile,  is  it?"  shouts  Mack.  "Then  go  and  hunt 
your  man!"  and  with  a  swift  motion  his  big  hand  falls 
upon  the  thin  face  and  sweeps  it  clear  out  of  view,  the 
man  bearing  it  coming  to  his  feet  in  a  white  fury  some 
paces  away.  A  second  look  at  Mack,  however,  calms 
his  rage,  and  from  a  distance  he  continues  leaping  and 
yelling  "La  Belle !  La  Belle !" 

After  a  few  moments'  consultation  the  result  is  an- 
nounced. 

"A  tie  for  the  first  place  between  La  Belle  and  Cam- 
eron! Time  eleven  seconds!  The  tie  will  be  run  off 
in  a  few  minutes." 

In  a  tumult  of  triumph  big  Mack  shoulders  Cameron 
through  the  crowd  and  carries  him  off  to  the  dressing 
tent,  where  he  spends  the  next  ten  minutes  rubbing  his 
man's  legs  and  chanting  his  glory. 

"Who  is  this  Cameron?"  enquired  the  M.P.P.,  leaning 
over  the  platform  railing. 


HOW    THEY    SAVED    THE    DAY        241 

Quick  came  the  answer  from  the  bevy  of  girls  throng- 
ing past  the  platform. 

"Cameron?  He's  our  man!"  It  was  Mandy's  voice, 
bold  and  strong. 

"Your  man?"  said  the  M.P.P.,  laughing  down  into 
the  coarse  flushed  face. 

"Yes,  our  man!"  cried  Isa  MacKenzie  back  at  him. 
"And  a  winner,  you  may  be  sure." 

"Ah,  happy  man!"  exclaimed  the  M.P.P.  "Who 
would  not  win  with  such  backers?  Why,  I  would  win 
myself,  Miss  Isa,  were  you  to  back  me  so.  But  who  is 
Cameron?"  he  continued  to  the  Methodist  minister  at 
his  side. 

"He  is  Haley's  hired  man,  I  believe,  and  that  first 
girl  is  Haley's  daughter." 

"Poor  thing!"  echoed  Mrs.  Freeman,  a  kindly  smile 
on  her  motherly  face.  "But  she  has  a  good  heart  has 
poor  Mandy." 

"But  why  'poor'?"  enquired  the  M.P.P. 

"Oh,  well,"  answered  Mrs.  Freeman  with  hesitation, 
"you  see  she  is  so  very  plain — and — well,  not  like  other 
girls.  But  she  is  a  good  worker  and  has  a  kind  heart." 

Once  more  the  runners  face  the  starter,  La  Belle  gay, 
alert,  confident;  Cameron  silent,  pale,  and  grim. 

"All  set?  Go!"  La  Belle  is  away  ere  the  word  is 
spoken.  The  bell,  however,  brings  him  back,  wrathful 
and  less  confident. 

Once  more  they  stand  crouching  over  the  scratch. 
Once  more  the  wrord  releases  them  like  shafts  from  the 
bow.  A  beautiful  start,  La  Belle  again  in  the  lead,  but 
Cameron  hard  at  his  heels  and  evidently  with  something 
to  spare.  Thus  for  fifty  yards,  sixty,  yes,  sixty-five. 

"La  Belle!  La  Belle!  He  wins!  He  wins !"  yell  his 
backers  frantically,  the  thin-faced  man  dancing  madly 


242  COKPOKAL    CAMERON 

near  the  finishing  tape.  Twenty  yards  to  go  and  still 
La  Belle  is  in  the  lead.  High  above  the  shouting  rises 
Mack's  roar. 

"Now,  Cameron !    For  the  life  of  you !" 

It  was  as  if  his  voice  had  touched  a  spring  somewhere 
in  Cameron's  anatomy.  A  great  leap  brings  him  even 
with  La  Belle.  Another,  another,  and  still  another,  and 
he  breasts  the  tape  a  winner  by  a  yard,  time  ten  and 
three  fifths  seconds.  The  Maplehill  folk  go  mad,  and 
madder  than  all  Isa  and  her  company  of  girl  friends. 

"I  got — one — bad — start — me!  He — pull — me  back!" 
panted  La  Belle  to  his  backers  who  were  holding  him  up. 

"Who  pulled  you  back?"  indignantly  cried  the  thin- 
faced  man,  looking  for  blood. 

"That  sacre  startair !" 

"You  ran  a  fine  race,  La  Belle!"  said  Cameron,  com- 
ing up. 

"Non!  Peste!  I  mak  heem  in  ten  and  one  feeft," 
replied  the  disgusted  La  Belle. 

"I  have  made  it  in  ten,"  said  Cameron  quietly. 

"Aha!"  exclaimed  La  Belle.  "You  are  one  black 
horse,  eh?  So !  I  race  no  more  to-day !" 

"Then  no  more  do  I !"  said  Cameron  firmly.  "Why, 
La  Belle,  you  will  beat  me  in  the  next  race  sure.  I  have 
no  wind." 

Under  pressure  La  Belle  changed  his  mind,  and  well 
for  him  he  did;  for  in  the  two  hundred  and  twenty 
yards  and  in  the  quarter  mile  Cameron's  lack  of  con- 
dition told  against  him,  so  that  in  the  one  he  ran  second 
to  La  Belle  and  in  the  other  third  to  La  Belle  and 
Fullerton. 

The  Maplehill  folk  were  gloriously  satisfied,  and  Fatty 
in  an  ecstasy  of  delight  radiated  good  cheer  everywhere. 
Throughout  the  various  contests  the  interest  continued 


to  deepen,  the  secretary,  with  able  generalship,  reserv- 
ing the  hammer-throwing  as  the  most  thrilling  event 
to  the  last  place.  For,  more  than  anything  in  the  world, 
men,  and  especially  women,  love  strong  men  and  love 
to  see  them  in  conflict.  For  that  fatal  love  cruel  wars 
have  been  waged,  lands  have  been  desolated,  kingdoms 
have  fallen.  There  was  the  promise  of  a  very  pretty  fight 
indeed  between  the  three  entered  for  the  hammer-throw- 
ing contest,  two  of  them  experienced  in  this  warfare  and 
bearing  high  honours,  the  third  new  to  the  game  and 
unskilled,  but  loved  for  his  modest  courage  and  for 
the  simple,  gentle  heart  he  carried  in  his  great  body. 
He  could  not  win,  of  course,  for  McGee,  the  champion 
of  the  city  police  force,  had  many  scalps  at  his  girdle,  and 
Duncan  Boss,  "Black  Duncan,"  the  pride  of  the  Zorras, 
the  unconquered  hero  of  something  less  than  a  hundred 
fights — who  could  hope  to  win  from  him?  But  all  the 
more  for  this  the  people  loved  big  Mack  and  wished  him 
well.  So  down  the  sloping  sides  of  the  encircling 
hills  the  crowds  pressed  thick,  and  on  the  platform  the 
great  men  leaned  over  the  rail,  while  they  lifted  their 
ladies  to  places  of  vantage  upon  the  chairs  beside 
them. 

"Oh,  I  cannot  see  a  bit !"  cried  Isa  MacKenzie,  vainly 
pressing  upon  the  crowding  men  who,  stolidly  unaware 
of  all  but  what  was  doing  in  front  of  them,  effectually 
shut  off  her  view. 

"And  you  want  to  see?"  said  the  M.P.P.,  looking  down 
at  her. 

"Oh,  so  much !"  she  cried. 

"Come  up  here,  then!"  and,  giving  her  a  hand,  he 
lifted  her,  smiling  and  blushing,  to  a  place  on  the 
platform  whence  she  with  absorbing  interest  followed 
the  movements  of  big  Mack,  and  incidentally  of  the 


244  COBPOBAL    CAMEEON 

others  in  as  far  as  they  might  bear  any  relation  to  those 
of  her  hero. 

And  now  they  were  drawing  for  place. 

"Aha!  Mack  is  going  to  throw  first!"  said  the  Bev- 
erend  Alexander  Munro.  "That  is  a  pity." 

"It's  a  shame!"  cried  Isa,  with  flashing  eyes.  "Why 
don't  they  put  one  of  those  older — ah — ?" 

"Stagers?"  suggested  the  M.P.P. 

"Duffers,"  concluded  Isa. 

"The  lot  determines  the  place,  Miss  Isa,"  said  Mr. 
Freeman,  with  a  smile  at  her.  "But  the  best  man  will 
win." 

"Oh,  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that!"  cried  the  girl  in  a 
distressed  voice.  "Mack  might  get  nervous." 

"Nervous?"  laughed  the  M.P.P.    "That  giant?" 

"Yes,  indeed,  I  have  seen  him  that  nervous — "  said 
Isa,  and  stopped  abruptly. 

"Ah !  That  is  quite  possible,"  replied  the  M.P.P.  with 
a  quizzical  smile. 

"And  there  is  young  Cameron  yonder.  He  is  not 
going  to  throw,  is  he?"  enquired  Mr.  Munro. 

"He  is  coaching  Mack,"  explained  Isa,  "and  fine  he 
is  at  it.  Oh,  there!  He  is  going  to  throw!  Oh,  if  he 
only  gets  the  swing!  Oh!  Oh!  Oh!  He  has  got  it 
fine!" 

A  storm  of  cheers  followed  Mack's  throw,  then  a  deep 
silence  while  the  judges  took  the  measurement. 

"One  hundred  and  twenty-one  feet!" 

"One  hundred  and  twenty-one!"  echoed  a  hundred 
voices  in  amazement. 

"One  hundred  and  twenty-one!  .  It  is  a  lie!"  cried 
McGee  with  an  oath,  striding  out  to  personally  super- 
vise the  measuring. 

"One  hundred  and  twenty-one!"  said  Duncan  Boss, 


HOW    THEY    SAVED    THE    DAY        245 

shaking  his  head  doubtfully,  but  he  was  too  much  of  a 
gentleman  to  do  other  than  wait  for  the  judges'  de- 
cision. 

"One  hundred  and  twenty-one  feet  and  two  inches," 
was  the  final  verdict,  and  from  the  crowd  there  rose  a 
roar  that  rolled  like  thunder  around  the  hills. 

"It's  a  fluke,  and  so  it  is!"  said  McGee  with  another 
oath.  v 

"Give  me  your  hand,  lad,"  said  Duncan  Ross,  evi- 
dently much  roused.  "It  iss  a  noble  throw  whateffer, 
and  worthy  of  beeg  Rory  himself.  I  haf  done  better, 
howeffer,  but  indeed  I  may  not  to-day." 

It  was  indeed  a  great  throw,  and  one  immediate  result 
was  that  there  was  no  holding  back  in  the  contest,  no 
playing  'possum.  Mack's  throw  was  there  to  be  beaten, 
and  neither  McGee  nor  even  Black  Duncan  could  afford 
to  throw  away  a  single  chance.  For  hammer-throwing 
is  an  art  requiring  not  only  strength  but  skill  as  well, 
and  not  only  strength  and  skill  but  something  else  most 
difficult  to  secure.  With  the  strength  and  the  skill  there 
must  go  a  rhythmic  and  perfect  coordination  of  all  the 
muscles  in  the  body,  with  exactly  the  proper  contracting 
and  relaxing  of  each  at  exactly  the  proper  moment  of 
time,  and  this  perfect  coordination  is  a  result  rarely 
achieved  even  by  the  greatest  throwers,  but  when 
achieved,  and  with  the  man's  full  strength  behind  it, 
his  record  throw  is  the  result. 

Meantime  Cameron  was  hovering  about  his  man  in  an 
ecstasy  of  delight. 

"Oh,  Mack,  old  man!"  he  said.  "You  got  the  swing 
perfectly.  It  was  a  dream.  And  if  you  had  put  your 
full  strength  into  it  you  would  have  made  a  world 
record.  Why,  man,  you  could  add  ten  feet  to  it !" 

"It  is  a  fluke !"  said  McGee  again,  as  he  took  his  place. 


246  CORPORAL    CAM  EBON 

"Make  one  like  it,  then,  my  lad,"  said  Black  Duncan 
with  a  grim  smile. 

But  this  McGee  failed  to  do,  for  his  throw  measured 
ninety-seven  feet. 

"A  very  fair  'throw,  McGee,"  said  Black  Duncan. 
"But  not  your  best,  and  nothing  but  the  best  will  do  the 
day  appearingly." 

With  that  Black  Duncan  took  place  for  his  throw. 
One — twice — thrice  he  swung  the  great  hammer  about 
his  head,  then  sent  it  whirling  into  the  air.  Again  a 
mighty  shout  announced  a  great  throw  and  again  a  dead 
silence  waited  for  the  measurement. 

"One  hundred  and  fourteen  feet !" 

"Aha!"  said  Black  Duncan,  and  stepped  back  appar- 
ently well  satisfied. 

It  was  again  Mack's  turn. 

"You  have  the  privilege  of  allowing  your  first  throw 
to  stand,"  said  Dr.  Kane. 

"Best  let  it  stand,  lad,  till  it  iss  beat,"  advised  Black 
Duncan  kindly.  "It  iss  a  noble  throw." 

"He  can  do  better,  though,"  said  Cameron. 

"Very  well,  very  well !"  said  Duncan.    "Let  him  try." 

But  Mack's  success  had  keyed  him  up  to  the  highest 
pitch.  Every  nerve  was  tingling,  every  muscle  taut. 
His  first  throw  he  had  taken  without  strain,  being 
mainly  anxious,  under  Cameron's  coaching,  to  get  the 
swing,  but  under  the  excitement  incident  to  the  contest 
he  had  put  more  strength  into  the  throw  than  appeared 
either  to  himself  or  to  his  coach.  Now,  however,  with 
nerves  and  muscles  taut,  he  was  eager  to  increase  his 
distance,  too  eager  it  seemed,  for  his  second  throw 
measured  only  eighty-nine  feet. 

A  silence  fell  upon  his  friends  and  Cameron  began 
to  chide  him. 


HOW    THEY    SAVED    THE    DAY        247 

"You  went  right  back  to  your  old  style,  Mack.  There 
wasn't  the  sign  of  a  swing." 

"I  will  get  it  yet,  or  bust  I"  said  big  Mack  between  his 
teeth. 

McGee's  second  throw  went  one  hundred  and  seven- 
teen feet.  A  cheer  arose  from  his  backers,  for  it  was  a 
great  throw  and  within  five  feet  of  his  record.  Undoubt- 
edly McGee  was  in  great  form  and  he  might  well  be 
expected  to  measure  up  to  his  best  to-day. 

Black  Duncan's  second  throw  measured  one  hundred 
and  nineteen  feet  seven,  which  was  fifteen  feet  short 
of  his  record  and  showed  him  to  be  climbing  steadily 
upward. 

Once  more  the  turn  came  to  Mack,  and  once  more, 
with  almost  savage  eagerness,  he  seized  the  hammer 
preparatory  to  his  throw. 

"Now,  Mack,  for  heaven's  sake  go  easy!"  said  Cam- 
eron. "Take  your  swing  easy  and  slow." 

But  Mack  needed  him  not.  "I  can  beat  it!"  he  mut- 
tered between  his  shut  teeth,  "and  I  will."  So,  with 
every  nerve  taut  and  every  muscle  strained  to  its  limit, 
he  made  his  third  attempt.  It  was  in  vain.  The  meas- 
ure showed  ninety-seven  feet  six.  A  suppressed  groan 
rose  from  the  Maplehill  folk. 

"A  grand  throw,  lad,  for  a  beginner,"  said  Black 
Duncan. 

The  excitement  now  became  intense.  By  his  first 
throw  of  one  hundred  and  twenty-one  feet  two,  Mack 
remained  still  the  winner.  But  McGee  had  only  four 
feet  to  gain  and  Black  Duncan  less  than  two  to  equal 
him.  The  little  secretary  went  skipping  about  aglow 
with  satisfaction  and  delight.  The  day  was  already 
famous  in  the  history  of  Canadian  athletics. 

Again   McGee  took  place  for  his  throw,  his  third 


248  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

and  last.  The  crowd  gathered  in  as  near  as  they  dared. 
But  McGee  had  done  his  best  for  that  day,  and  his 
final  throw  measured  only  one  hundred  and  five 
feet. 

There  remained  yet  but  a  single  chance  to  wrest  from 
Mack  Murray  the  prize  for  that  day,  but  that  chance 
lay  in  the  hands  of  Duncan  Boss,  the  cool  and  experi- 
enced champion  of  many  a  hard-fought  fight.  Again 
Black  Duncan  took  the  hammer.  It  was  his  last  throw. 
He  had  still  fifteen  feet  to  go  to  reach  his  own  record, 
and  he  had  often  beaten  the  throw  that  challenged  him 
to-day,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  had  passed  through 
many  a  contest  where  his  throw  had  fallen  short  of 
the  one  he  must  now  beat  to  win.  A  hush  fell  upon 
the  people  as  Black  Duncan  took  his  place.  Once — 
twice — and,  with  ever  increasing  speed,  thrice  he  swung 
the  great  hammer,  then  high  and  far  it  hurtled  through 
the  air. 

"Jerusalem !"  cried  Mack.    "What  a  fling !" 

"Too  high,"  muttered  Black  Duncan.  "You  have  got 
it,  lad,  you  have  got  it,  and  you  well  deserve  it." 

"Tut-tut,  nonsense!"  said  Mack  impatiently.  "Wait 
you  a  minute." 

Silent  and  expectant  the  crowd  awaited  the  result. 
Twice  over  the  judges  measured  the  throw,  then  an- 
nounced "One  hundred  and  twenty-one  feet."  Mack  had 
won  by  two  inches. 

A  great  roar  rose  from  the  crowd,  round  Mack  they 
surged  like  a  flood,  eager  to  grip  his  hands  and  eager 
to  carry  him  off  shoulder  high.  But  he  threw  them  off 
as  a  rock  throws  back  the  incoming  tide  and  made  for 
Duncan  Ross,  who  stood,  calm  and  pale,  and  with  hand 
outstretched,  waiting  him.  It  was  a  new  experience 
for  Black  Duncan,  and  a  bitter,  to  be  second  in  a  contest. 


HOW    THEY    SAVED    THE    DAY        249 

Only  once  in  many  years  had  he  been  forced  to  lower 
his  colours,  and  to  be  beaten  by  a  raw  and  unknown 
youth  added  to  the  humiliation  of  his  defeat.  But  Dun- 
can Boss  had  in  his  veins  the  blood  of  a  long  line  of 
Highland  gentlemen  who  knew  how  to  take  defeat  with 
a  smile. 

"I  congratulate  you,  Mack  Murray,"  he  said  in  a  firm, 
clear  voice.  "Your  fame  will  be  through  Canada  to- 
morrow, and  well  you  deserve  it." 

But  Mack  caught  the  outstretched  hand  in  both  of 
his  and,  leaning  toward  Black  Duncan,  he  roared  at  him 
above  the  din. 

"Mr.  Eoss,  Mr.  Boss,  it  is  no  win!  Listen  to  me!" 
he  panted.  "What  are  two  inches  in  a  hundred  and 
twenty  feet?  A  stretching  of  the  tape  will  do  it.  No, 
no!  Listen  to  me!  You  must  listen  to  me  as  you  are 
a  man !  I  will  not  have  it !  You  can  beat  me  easily  in 
the  throw!  At  best  it  is  a  tie  and  nothing  else  will  I 
have  to-day.  At  least  let  us  throw  again !"  he  pleaded. 
But  to  this  Koss  would  not  listen  for  a  moment. 

"The  lad  has  made  his  win,"  he  said  to  the  judges, 
"and  his  win  he  must  have." 

But  Mack  declared  that  nothing  under  heaven  would 
make  him  change  his  mind.  Finally  the  judges,  too, 
agreed  that  in  view  of  the  possibility  of  a  mistake  in 
measuring  with  the  tape,  it  would  be  only  right  and 
fair  to  count  the  result  a  tie.  Black  Duncan  listened 
respectfully  to  the  judges'  decision. 

"You  are  asking  me  a  good  deal,  Mack,"  he  said  at 
length,  "but  you  are  a  gallant  lad  and  I  am  an  older 
man  and — " 

"Aye !    And  a  better !"  shouted  Mack. 

"And  so  I  will  agree." 

Once  more  the  field  was  cleared.    And  now  there  fell 


250  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

upon  the  crowding  people  a  hush  as  if  they  stood  in  the 
presence  of  death  itself. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen!"  said  the  M.P.P.  "Do  you 
realise  that  you  are  looking  upon  a  truly  great  contest, 
a  contest  great  enough  to  be  of  national,  yes,  of  inter- 
national, importance?" 

"You  bet  your  sweet  life!"  cried  the  irrepressible 
Fatty.  "We're  going  some.  'What's  the  matter  with 
our  Mack?7 "  he  shouted. 

"'He's — all — right!'"  came  back  the  chant  from  the 
surrounding  hills  in  hundreds  of  voices. 

"And  what's  the  matter  with  Duncan  Ross?"  cried 
Mack,  waving  a  hand  above  his  head. 

Again  the  assurance  of  perfect  Tightness  came  back 
in  a  mighty  roar  from  the  hills.  But  it  was  hushed  into 
immediate  silence,  a  silence  breathless  and  overwhelm- 
ing, for  Black  Duncan  had  taken  once  more  his  place 
with  the  hammer  in  his  hand. 

"Oh,  I  do  wish  they  would  hurry!"  gasped  Isa,  her 
hands  pressed  hard  upon  her  heart. 

"My  heart  is  rather  weak,  too,"  said  the  M.P.P.  "I 
fear  I  cannot  last  much  longer.  Ah!  There  he  goes, 
thank  God !" 

"Amen!"  fervently  responds  little  Mrs.  Freeman, 
who,  in  the  intensity  of  her  excitement,  is  standing  on 
a  chair  holding  tight  by  her  husband's  coat  collar. 

Not  a  sound  breaks  the  silence  as  Black  Duncan  takes 
his  swing.  It  is  a  crucial  moment  in  his  career.  Only 
by  one  man  in  Canada  has  he  ever  been  beaten,  and  with 
ihe  powers  of  his  antagonist  all  untried  and  unknown, 
for  anyone  could  see  that  Mack  has  not  yet  thrown  his 
best,  he  may  be  called  upon  to  surrender  within  the  next 
few  minutes  the  proud  position  he  has  held  so  long  in 
the  athletic  world.  But  there  is  not  a  sign  of  excite- 


HOW    THEY    SAVED    THE    DAY        251 

ment  in  his  face.  With  great  care,  and  with  almost 
painful  deliberation,  he  balances  the  hammer  for  a 
moment  or  two,  then  once — twice — and,  with  a  tremen- 
dous quickening  of  speed, — thrice — he  swings,  and  his 
throw  is  made.  A  great  throw  it  is,  anyone  can  see, 
and  one  that  beats  the  winner.  In  hushed  and  strained 
silence  the  people  await  the  result. 

"One  hundred  and  twenty-one  feet  nine." 

Then  rises  the  roar  that  has  been  held  pent  up  during 
the  last  few  nerve-racking  minutes. 

"It  iss  a  good  enough  throw,"  said  Black  Duncan  with 
a  quiet  smile,  "but  there  iss  more  in  me  yet.  Now,  lad, 
do  your  best  and  there  will  be  no  hard  feeling  with  thiss 
man  whateffer  happens." 

Black  Duncan's  accent  and  idioms  reveal  the  intense 
excitement  that  lies  behind  his  quiet  face. 

Mack  takes  the  hammer. 

"I  will  not  beat  it,  you  may  be  sure,"  he  says.  "But 
I  will  just  take  a  fling  at  it  anyway." 

"Now,  Mack,"  says  Cameron,  "for  the  sake  of  all  you 
love  forget  the  distance  and  show  them  the  Braemar 
swing.  Easy  and  slow." 

But  Mack  waves  him  aside  and  stands  pondering. 
He  is  "getting  the  idea." 

"Man,  do  you  see  him?"  whispers  his  brother  Danny, 
who  stands  near  to  Cameron.  "I  believe  he  has  got 
it." 

Cameron  nods  his  head.  Mack  wears  an  impressive 
air  of  confidence  and  strength. 

"It  will  be  a  great  throw,"  says  Cameron  to  Danny. 

"Easy  and  slow"  Mack  poises  the  great  hammer  in  his 
hand,  swinging  it  gently  backward  and  forward  as  if 
it  had  been  a  boy's  toy,  the  great  muscles  in  arms  and 
back  rippling  up  and  down  in  firm  full  waves  under 


252  COKPOKAL    CAM  EBON 

his  white  skin,  for  he  is  now  stripped  to  the  waist  for 
this  throw. 

Suddenly,  as  if  at  command,  the  muscles  seem  to 
spring  to  their  places,  tense,  alert.  "Easy."  Yes,  truly, 
but  by  no  means  "slow."  "Easy,"  the  great  hammer 
swings  about  his  head  in  whirling  circles,  swift  and  ever 
swifter.  Once — and  twice — the  great  muscles  in  back 
and  arms  and  back  and  legs  knotted  in  bunches — 
thrice ! 

"Ah-h-h!"  A  long,  wailing,  horrible  sound,  half 
moan,  half  cry,  breaks  from  the  people.  Mack  has  missed 
his  direction,  and  the  great  hammer,  weighted  with  the 
potentialities  of  death,  is  describing  a  parabola  high 
over  the  heads  of  the  crowding,  shrieking,  scattering 
people. 

"Oh,  my  God!  My  God!  Oh,  my  God!  My  God!" 
With  his  hands  covering  his  eyes  the  big  man  is  swaying 
from  side  to  side  like  a  mighty  tree  before  a  tempest. 
Cameron  and  Boss  both  spring  to  him.  On  the  hillsides 
men  stand  rigid,  pale,  shaking;  women  shriek  and  faint. 
One  ghastly  moment  of  suspense,  and  then  a  horrid  sick- 
ening thud;  one  more  agonising  second  of  silence,  and 
then  from  a  score  of  throats  rises  a  cry : 

"It's  all  right!    All  right!    No  one  hurt!" 

From  five  hundred  throats  breaks  a  weird  unearthly 
mingling  of  strange  sounds ;  cheers  and  cries,  shouts 
and  sobs,  prayers  and  oaths.  In  the  midst  of  it  all 
Mack  sinks  to  his  knees,  with  hands  outstretched  to 
heaven. 

"Great  God,  I  thank  Thee!  I  thank  Thee!"  he  cries 
brokenly,  the  tears  streaming  down  his  ghastly  face. 
Then,  falling  forward  upon  his  hands,  he  steadies  him- 
self while  great  sobs  come  heaving  from  his  mighty 
chest.  Cameron  and  Koss,  still  upholding  him,  through 


HOW    THEY    SAVED    THE    DAY        253 

the  crowd  a  man  comes  pushing  his  way,  hurling  men 
and  women  right  and  left. 

"Back,  people!  And  be  still."  It  is  the  minister, 
Alexander  Munro.  "Be  still !  It  is  a  great  deliverance 
that  God  has  wrought!  Peace,  woman!  God  is  near! 
Let  us  pray." 

Instantly  all  noises  are  hushed,  hats  come  off,  and  all 
up  the  sloping  hills  men  and  women  fall  to  their  knees, 
or  remain  standing  with  heads  bowed,  while  the  min- 
ister, upright  beside  the  kneeling  man,  spreads  his  hands 
towards  heaven  and  prays  in  a  voice  steady,  strong, 
thrilling : 

"Almighty  God,  great  and  wonderful  in  Thy  ways, 
merciful  and  gracious  in  Thy  providence,  Thou  hast 
wrought  a  great  deliverance  before  our  eyes  this  day. 
All  power  is  in  Thy  hands.  All  forces  move  at  Thy 
command.  Thine  hand  it  is  that  guided  this  dread  ham- 
mer harmless  to  its  own  place,  saving  the  people  from 
death.  It  is  ever  thus,  Father,  for  Thou  art  Love.  We 
lift  to  Thee  our  hearts'  praise.  May  we  walk  softly 
before  Thee  this  day  and  alway.  Amen !" 

"Amen!  Amen!"  On  every  hand  and  up  the  hill- 
sides rises  the  fervent  solemn  attestation. 

"Kise,  Mr.  Murray !"  says  the  minister  in  a  loud  and 
solemn  voice,  giving  Mack  his  hand.  "God  has  been 
gracious  to  you  this  day.  See  that  you  do  not  for- 
get" 

"He  has  that !  He  has  that !"  sobs  Mack.  "And  God 
forgive  me  if  I  ever  forget."  And,  suddenly  pushing 
from  him  the  many  hands  stretched  out  towards  him,  he 
stumbles  his  way  through  the  crowd,  led  off  by  his  two 
friends  towards  the  tent. 

"Hold  on  there  a  minute!  Let  us  get  this  measure- 
ment first."  It  was  the  matter-of-fact,  cheery  voice  of 


254 


Fatty  Freeman.  "If  I  am  not  mistaken  we  have  a  great 
throw  to  measure." 

"Quite  right,  Mr.  Freeman,"  said  the  minister.  "Let 
us  get  the  measurement  and  let  not  the  day  be  spoiled." 

"Here,  you  people,  don't  stand  there  gawking  like  a 
lot  of  dotty  chumps!"  cried  the  secretary,  striving  to 
whip  them  out  of  the  mood  of  horror  into  which  they 
had  fallen.  "Get  a  move  on !  Give  the  judges  a  chance! 
What  is  it,  doctor?" 

The  judges  were  consulting.  At  length  the  decision 
was  announced. 

"One  hundred  and  twenty-nine  seven." 

"Hooray!"  yelled  Fatty,  flinging  his  straw  hat  high. 
"One  hundred  and  twenty-nine  seven!  It  is  a  world 
throw!  Why  don't  you  yell,  you  people?  Don't  you 
know  that  you  have  a  world-beater  among  you?  Yell! 
Yell!" 

"Three  cheers  for  Mack  Murray !"  called  out  the  Rev- 
erend Harper  Freeman  from  the  platform,  swinging  his 
great  black  beaver  hat  over  his  head. 

It  was  what  the  people  wanted.  Again,  and  again, 
and  yet  again  the  crowd  exhausted  its  pent-up  emotions 
in  frantic  cheers.  The  clouds  of  gloom  were  rolled  back, 
the  sun  was  shining  bright  again,  and  with  fresh  zest 
the  people  turned  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  rest  of  the 
programme. 

"Thank  you,  Sir!"  said  Fatty  amid  the  uproar,  grip- 
ping the  hand  of  Mr.  Munro.  "You  have  saved  the 
day  for  us.  We  were  all  going  to  smash,  but  you  pulled 
us  out." 

Meantime  in  the  tent  Duncan  Boss  was  discoursing 
to  his  friends. 

"Man,  Mack !  Yon's  a  mighty  throw !  Do  you  know 
it  iss  within  five  feet  of  my  own  record  and  within  ten 


HOW    THEY    SAVED    THE    DAY        255 

of  Big  Kory's?  Then,"  he  said  solemnly,  "you  are  in 
the  world's  first  class  to-day,  my  boy,  and  you  are  just 
beginning." 

"I  have  just  quit!"  said  Mack. 

"Whist,  lad!  Thiss  iss  not  the  day  for  saying  any- 
thing about  it.  We  will  wait  a  wee  and  to-day  we  will 
just  be  thankful."  And  with  that  they  turned  to  other 
things. 

They  were  still  in  the  dressing  tent  when  the  secretary 
thrust  his  cheery  face  under  the  flap. 

"I  say,  boys!  Are  you  ready?  Cameron,  we  want 
you  on  the  pipes." 

"Harp !"  said  Mack.  "I  am  going  home.  I  am  quite 
useless." 

"And  me,  too,"  said  Cameron.  "I  shall  go  with  you, 
Mack." 

"What?"  cried  Fatty  in  consternation.  "Look  here, 
boys!  Is  this  a  square  deal?  God  knows  I  am  nearly 
all  in  myself.  I've  had  enough  to  keep  this  thing 
from  going  to  pieces.  Don't  you  go  back  on  me 
now !" 

"That  is  so !"  said  Mack  slowly.  "Cameron,  you  must 
stay.  You  are  needed.  I  will  spoil  things  more  by  stay- 
ing than  by  going.  I  would  be  forever  seeing  that  ham- 
mer crushing  down — "  He  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands  and  shuddered. 

"All  right,  Mack !  I  will  stay,"  said  Cameron.  "But 
what  about  you?" 

"Oh,"  said  Black  Duncan,  "Mack  and  I  will  walk 
about  and  have  a  smoke  for  a  little." 

"Thanks,  boys,  you  are  the  stuff!"  said  Fatty  fer- 
vently. "Once  more  you  have  saved  the  day.  Come 
then,  Cameron!  Get  your  pipes.  Old  Sutherland  is 
waiting  for  you." 


256  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

But  before  he  set  off  Mack  called  Cameron  to 
him. 

"You  will  see  Isa,"  he  said,  "and  tell  her  why  I  could 
not  stay.  And  you  will  take  her  home."  His  face  was 
still  pallid,  his  voice  unsteady. 

"I  will  take  care  of  her,  Mack,  never  fear.  But  could 
you  not  remain?  It  might  help  you." 

But  Mack  only  shook  his  head.  His  fervent  Highland 
soul  had  too  recently  passed  through  the  valley  of  death 
and  its  shadows  were  still  upon  him. 

Four  hours  later  Fatty  looked  in  upon  Mack  at  his 
own  home.  He  found  him  sitting  in  the  moonlight  in 
the  open  door  of  the  big  new  barn,  with  his  new-made 
friend,  Duncan  Ross,  at  one  door  post  and  old  Piper 
Sutherland  at  the  other,  while  up  and  down  the  floor  in 
the  shadow  within  Cameror  marched,  droning  the  wild 
melody  of  the  "Maccrimmon  Lament."  Mournful  and 
weird  it  sounded  through  the  gloom,  but  upon  the  hearts 
of  these  Highlanders  it  fell  like  a  soothing  balm.  With 
a  wave  of  his  hand  Mack  indicated  a  seat,  which  Fatty 
took  without  a  word.  Irrepressible  though  he  was,  he 
had  all  the  instincts  of  a  true  gentleman.  He  knew  it 
was  the  time  for  silence,  and  silent  he  stood  till  the 
Lament  had  run  through  its  "doubling"  and  its  "tre- 
bling," ending  with  the  simple  stately  movement  of  its 
original  theme.  To  Fatty  it  was  a  mere  mad  and  un- 
melodious  noise,  but,  reading  the  faces  of  the  three  men 
before  him  in  the  moonlight,  he  had  sense  enough  to 
recognise  his  own  limitations. 

At  length  the  Lament  was  finished  and  Cameron 
came  forward  into  the  light. 

"Ah!  That  iss  good  for  the  soul,"  said  old  piper 
Sutherland.  "Do  you  know  what  your  pipes  have  been 
saying  to  me  in  yon  Lament? 


HOW    THEY    SAVED    THE    DAY        257 

'Yea,  though  I  walk  through  Death's  dark  vale, 

Yet  will  I  fear  none  ill; 
For  Thou  art  with  me,  and  Thy  rod 
And  staS  me  comfort  still.' 

And  we  have  been  in  the  valley  thiss  day." 

Mack  rose  to  his  feet. 

"I  could  not  have  said  it  myself,  but,  as  true  as  death, 
that  is  the  word  for  me." 

"Well,"  said  Fatty,  rising  briskly,  "I  guess  you  are 
all  right,  Mack.  I  confess  I  was  a  bit  anxious  about 
you,  but — " 

"There  is  no  need,"  said  Mack  gravely.  "I  can  sleep 
now." 

"Good-night,  then,"  replied  Fatty,  turning  to  go. 
"Cameron,  I  owe  you  a  whole  lot.  I  won't  forget  it." 
He  set  his  hat  upon  the  back  of  his  head,  sticking  his 
hands  into  his  pockets  and  surveying  the  group  before 
him.  "Say!  You  Highlanders  are  a  great  bunch.  I 
do  not  pretend  to  understand  you,  but  I  want  to  say  that 
between  you  you  have  saved  the  day."  And  with  that 
the  cheery,  frisky,  irrepressible,  but  kindly  little  man 
faded  into  the  moonlight  and  was  gone. 

For  the  fourth  time  the  day  had  been  saved. 


258 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  SABBATH  DAY  IN  LATE  AUGUST 

IT  was  a  Sabbath  day  in  late  August,  and  in  no  month 
of  the  year  does  a  Sabbath  day  so  chime  with  the 
time.  For  the  Sabbath  day  is  a  day  for  rest  and 
holy  thought,  and  the  late  August  is  the  rest  time  of 
the  year,  when  the  woods  and  fields  are  all  asleep  in 
a  slumberous  blue  haze;  the  sacred  time,  too,  for  in 
late  August  old  Mother  Earth  is  breathing  her  holiest 
aspirations  heavenward,  having  made  offering  of  her 
best  in  the  full  fruitage  of  the  year.  Hence  a  Sabbath 
day  in  late  August  chimes  marvellously  well  with  the 
time. 

And  this  particular  Sabbath  day  was  perfect  of  its 
kind,  a  dreamy,  drowsy  day,  a  day  when  genial  suns 
and  hazy  cool  airs  mingle  in  excellent  harmony,  and 
the  tired  worker,  freed  from  his  week's  toil,  basks  and 
stretches,  yawns  and  revels  in  rest  under  the  orchard 
trees;  unless,  indeed,  he  goes  to  morning  church.  And 
to  morning  church  Cameron  went  as  a  rule,  but  to-day, 
owing  to  a  dull  ache  in  his  head  and  a  general  sense 
of  languor  pervading  his  limbs,  he  had  chosen  instead, 
as  likely  to  be  more  healing  to  his  aching  head  and  his 
languid  limbs,  the  genial  sun,  tempered  with  cool  and 
lazy  airs  under  the  orchard  trees.  And  hence  he  lay 
watching  the  democrat  down  the  lane  driven  off  to 
church  by  Perkins,  with  Mandy  beside  him  in  the  front 
seat,  the  seat  of  authority  and  of  activity,  and  Mr. 
Haley  alone  in  the  back  seat,  the  seat  of  honour  and  of 
retirement.  Mrs.  Haley  was  too  overborne  by  the  heat 
and  rush  of  the  busy  week  to  adventure  the  heat  and 
dust  of  the  road,  and  to  sustain  the  somewhat  strenu- 


A  SABBATH  DAY  IN  LATE  AUGUST        259 

ous  discourse  of  the  Keverend  Harper  Freeman,  to 
whose  flock  the  Haleys  belonged.  This,  however,  was 
not  Mrs.  Haley's  invariable  custom.  In  the  cooler 
weather  it  was  her  habit  to  drive  on  a  Sunday  morning 
to  church,  sitting  in  the  back  seat  beside  her  husband, 
with  Tim  and  Mandy  occupying  the  front  seat  beside 
the  hired  man,  but  during  the  heat  and  hurry  of  the 
harvest  time  she  would  take  advantage  of  the  quietness 
of  the  house  and  of  the  two  or  three  hours'  respite  from 
the  burden  of  household  duties  to  make  up  arrears  of 
sleep  accumulated  during  the  preceding  week,  salving 
her  conscience,  for  she  had  a  conscience  in  the  matter, 
with  a  promise  that  she  might  go  in  the  evening  when  it 
was  cooler  and  when  she  was  more  rested.  This  promise, 
however,  having  served  its  turn,  was  never  fulfilled,  for 
by  the  evening  the  wheels  of  household  toil  began  once 
moije  to  turn,  and  Mrs.  Haley  found  it  easier  to  wor- 
ship vicariously,  sending  Mandy  and  Tim  to  the  eve- 
ning service.  And  to  this  service  the  young  people  were 
by  no  means  loath  to  go,  ^or  it  was  held  on  fair  eve- 
nings in  MacBurney's  woods,  two  miles  away  by  the  road, 
one  mile  by  the  path  through  the  woods.  On  occasion 
Perkins  would  hitch  up  in  the  single  buggy  Dexter,  the 
fiery  young  colt,  too  fiery  for  any  other  to  drive,  and, 
as  a  special  attention  to  his  employer's  daughter,  would 
drive  her  to  the  service.  But  since  the  coming  of  Cam- 
eron, Mandy  had  allowed  this  custom  to  fall  into  dis- 
use, at  first  somewhat  to  Perkins'  relief,  for  the  colt 
was  restless  and  fretted  against  the  tie  rein;  and,  be- 
sides, Perkins  was  not  as  yet  quite  prepared  to  acknowl- 
edge any  special  relationship  between  himself  and  the 
young  lady  in  question  before  the  assembled  congrega- 
tion, preferring  to  regard  himself  and  to  be  regarded 
by  others  as  a  free  lance.  Later,  however,  as  Mandy 's 


260  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

preference  for  a  walk  through  the  woods  became  more 
marked,  Perkins,  much  to  his  disgust,  found  himself 
reduced  to  the  attitude  of  a  suppliant,  urging  the  su- 
perior attraction  of  a  swift  drive  behind  Dexter  as 
against  a  weary  walk  to  the  service.  Mandy,  however, 
with  the  directness  of  her  simple  nature,  had  no  com- 
punction in  frankly  maintaining  her  preference  for  a 
walk  with  Tim  and  Cameron  through  the  woods;  in- 
deed, more  than  once  she  allowed  Perkins  to  drive  off 
with  his  fiery  colt,  alone  in  his  glory. 

But  this  Sabbath  morning,  as  Cameron  lay  under  the 
orchard  trees,  he  was  firmly  resolved  that  he  would  give 
the  whole  day  to  the  nursing  of  the  ache  in  his  head 
and  the  painful  languor  in  his  body.  And  so  lying  he 
allowed  his  mind  to  wander  uncontrolled  over  the  hap- 
penings of  the  past  months,  troubled  by  a  lazy  con- 
sciousness of  a  sore  spot  somewhere  in  his  life.  Grad- 
ually there  grew  into  clearness  the  realisation  of  the 
cause  of  this  sore  spot. , 

"What  is  the  matter  with  Perkins?"  he  asked  of  Tim, 
who  had  declined  to  go  to  church,  and  who  had  strolled 
into  the  orchard  to  be  near  his  friend. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  Perkins?"  Cameron  asked 
a  second  time,  for  Tim  was  apparently  too  much  en- 
gaged with  a  late  harvest  apple  to  answer. 

"How?"  said  the  boy  at  length. 

"He  is  so  infernally  grumpy  with  me." 

"Grumpy?    He's  sore,  I  guess." 

"Sore?" 

"You  bet!  Ever  since  I  beat  him  in  the  turnips  that 
day." 

"Ever  since  you  beat  him?"  asked  Cameron  in  amaze- 
ment. "Why  should  he  be  sore  against  me?" 

"He  knows  it  was  you  done  it,"  said  Tim. 


A  SABBATH  DAY  IN  LATE  AUGUST        261 

"Nonsense,  Tim !  Besides,  Perkins  isn't  a  baby.  He 
surely  doesn't  hold  that  against  me." 

"Huh,  huh,"  said  Tim,  "everybody's  pokin'  fun  at 
him,  and  he  hates  that,  and  ever  since  the  picnic,  too, 
he  hates  you." 

"But  why  in  the  world?" 

"Oh,  shucks !"  said  Tim,  impatient  at  Cameron's  den- 
sity. "I  guess  you  know  all  right." 

"Know?    Not  I!" 

"Git  out!" 

"Honor  bright,  Tim,"  replied  Cameron,  sitting  up. 
"Now,  honestly,  tell  me,  Tim,  why  in  the  world  Perkins 
should  hate  me." 

"You  put  his  nose  out  of  joint,  I  guess,"  said  Tim 
with  a  grin. 

"Oh,  rot,  Tim!    How?" 

"Every  how,"  said  Tim,  proceeding  to  elaborate, 
"First  when  you  came  here  you  were  no  good — I 
mean — "  Tim  checked  himself  hastily. 

"I  know  what  you  mean,  Tim.  Go  on.  You  are  quite 
right.  I  couldn't  do  anything  on  the  farm." 

"Now,"  continued  Tim,  "you  can  do  anything  jist  as 
good  as  him — except  bindin',  of  course.  He's  a  terror 
at  bindin',  but  at  pitchin'  and  shockin'  and  loadin' 
you're  jist  as  good." 

"But,  Tim,  that's  all  nonsense.  Perkins  isn't  such  a 
fool  as  to  hate  me  because  I  can  keep  up  my  end." 

"He  don't  like  you,"  said  Tim  stubbornly. 

"But  why?    Why  in  the  name  of  common  sense?" 

"Well,"  said  Tim,  summing  up  the  situation,  "before 
you  come  he  used  to  be  the  hull  thing.  Now  he's  got 
to  play  second  fiddle." 

But  Cameron  remained  unenlightened. 

"Oh,  pshaw !"  continued  Tim,  making  further  conces- 


262  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

sions  to  his  friend's  stupidity.  "At  the  dances,  at  the 
raisin's,  runnin',  jumpin' — everythin' — Perkins  used  to 
be  the  King  Bee.  Now — "  Tim's  silence  furnished  an 
impressive  close  to  the  contrast.  "Why !  They  all  think 
you  are  just  fine!"  said  Tim,  with  a  sudden  burst  of 
confidence. 

"They?" 

"All  the  boys.  Yes,  and  the  girls,  too,"  said  Tim,  al- 
lowing his  solemn  face  the  unusual  luxury  of  a  smile. 

"The  girls?" 

"Aw,  yeh  know  well  enough — the  Murray  girls,  and 
the  MacKenzies,  and  the  hull  lot  of  them.  And  then — 
and  then — there's  Mandy,  too."  Here  Tim  shot  a  keen 
glance  at  his  friend,  who  now  sat  leaning  against  the 
trunk  of  an  apple  tree  with  his  eyes  closed. 

"Now,  Tim,  you  are  a  shrewd  little  chap" — here 
Cameron  sat  upright — "but  how  do  you  know  about 
the  girls,  and  what  is  this  you  say  about  Mandy?  Mandy 
is  good  to  me — very  kind  and  all  that,  but — " 

"She  used  to  like  Perkins  pretty  well,"  said  Tim,  with 
a  kind  of  hesitating  shyness. 

"And  Perkins?" 

"Oh,  he  thought  he  jist  owned  her.  Guess  he  ain't 
so  sure  now,"  added  Tim.  "I  guess  you've  changed 
Mandy  all  right." 

It  was  the  one  thing  Cameron  hated  to  hear,  but  he 
made  light  of  it. 

"Oh,  nonsense !"  he  exclaimed.  "But  if  I  did  I  would 
be  mighty  glad  of  it.  Mandy  is  too  good  for  a  man  like 
Perkins.  Why,  he  isn't  safe." 

"He's  a  terror,"  replied  Tim  seriously.  "They  are 
all  scairt  of  him.  He's  a  terror  to  fight.  Why,  at  Mac- 
Kenzie's  raisin'  last  year  he  jist  went  round  foamin' 
like  an  old  boar  and  nobody  dast  say  a  word  to  him. 


A  SABBATH  DAY  IN  LATE  AUGUST        263 

Even  Mack  Murray  was  scairt  to  touch  him.  When  he 
gets  like  that  he  ain't  afraid  of  nothin'  and  he's  awful 
quick  and  strong." 

Tim  proceeded  to  enlarge  upon  this  theme,  which  ap- 
parently fascinated  him,  with  tales  of  Perkins'  prowess 
in  rough-and-tumble  fighting.  But  Cameron  had  lost 
interest  and  was  lying  down  again  with  his  eyes  closed. 

"Well,"  he  said,  when  Tim  had  finished  his  recital, 
"if  he  is  that  kind  of  a  man  Mandy  should  have  nothing 
to  do  with  him." 

But  Tim  was  troubled. 

"Dad  likes  him,"  he  said  gloomily.  "He  Is  a  good 
hand.  And  ma  likes  him,  too.  He  taffies  her  up." 

"And  Mandy?"  enquired  Cameron. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Tim,  still  more  gloomy.  "I 
guess  he  kind  of  makes  her.  I'd — I'd  jist  like  to  take 
a  lump  out  of  him."  Tim's  eyes  blazed  into  a  sudden 
fire.  "He  runs  things  on  this  farm  altogether  too 
much." 

"Buck  up  then,  Tim,  and  beat  him,"  said  Cameron, 
dismissing  the  subject  "And  now  I  must  have  some 
sleep.  I  have  got  an  awful  head  on." 

Tim  was  quick  enough  to  understand  the  hint,  but 
still  he  hovered  about. 

"Say,  I'm  awful  sorry,"  he  said.  "Can't  I  git  some- 
thin'?  You  didn't  eat  no  breakfast." 

"Oh,  all  I  want  is  sleep,  Tim.  I  will  be  all  right  to- 
morrow," replied  Cameron,  touched  by  the  tone  of  sym- 
pathy in  Tim's  voice.  "You  are  a  fine  little  chap.  Trot 
along  and  let  me  sleep." 

But  no  sleep  came  to  Cameron,  partly  because  of  the 
hammer  knocking  in  his  head,  but  chiefly  because  of  the 
thoughts  set  going  by  Tim.  Cameron  was  not  ab- 
normally egotistical,  but  he  was  delightedly  aware  of 


264  CORPOBAL    CAMERON 

the  new  place  he  held  in  the  community  ever  since  the 
now  famous  Dominion  Day  picnic,  and,  now  that  the 
harvest  rush  had  somewhat  slackened,  social  engage- 
ments had  begun  to  crowd  upon  him.  Dances  and 
frolics,  coon  hunts  and  raisings  were  becoming  the  vogue 
throughout  the  community,  and  no  social  function  was 
complete  without  the  presence  of  Cameron.  But  this 
sudden  popularity  had  its  embarrassments,  and  among 
them,  and  threatening  to  become  annoying,  was  the 
hostility  of  Perkins,  veiled  as  yet,  but  none  the  less  real. 
Moreover,  behind  Perkins  stood  a  band  of  young  fel- 
lows of  whom  he  was  the  recognised  leader  and  over 
whom  his  ability  in  the  various  arts  and  crafts  of  the 
farm,  his  physical  prowess  in  sports,  his  gay,  cheery 
manner,  and,  it  must  be  said,  the  reputation  he  bore  for 
a  certain  fierce  brute  courage  in  rough-and-tumble  fight- 
ing, gave  him  a  sort  of  ascendency. 

But  Perkins7  attitude  towards  him  did  not  after  all 
cause  Cameron  much  concern.  There  was  another  and 
more  annoying  cause  of  embarrassment,  and  that  was 
Mandy.  Tim's  words  kept  reiterating  themselves  in  his 
brain,  "You've  changed  Mandy  all  right."  Over  this 
declaration  of  Tim's,  Cameron  proceeded  to  argue  with 
himself.  He  sat  bolt  upright  that  he  might  face  him- 
self on  the  matter. 

"Now,  then,"  he  said  to  himself,  "let's  have  this  thing 
out." 

"Most  willingly.  This  girl  was  on  the  way  to  engage- 
ment to  this  young  man  Perkins.  You  come  on  the 
scene.  Everything  is  changed." 

"Well !  What  of  it?  It's  a  mighty  good  thing  for 
her." 

"But  you  are  the  cause  of  it" 

"The  occasion,  rather." 


A  SABBATH  DAY  IN  LATE  AUGUST       265 

"No,  the  cause.    You  have  attracted  her  to  you." 

"I  can't  help  that.  Besides,  it  is  a  mere  passing 
whim.  She'll  get  over  all  that."  And  Cameron 
laughed  scornfully  in  his  own  face. 

"Do  you  know  that?  And  how  do  you  know  it?  Tim 
thinks  differently." 

"Oh,  confound  it  all !  I  see  that  I  shall  have  to  get 
out  of  here." 

"A  wise  decision  truly,  and  the  sooner  the  better. 
Do  you  propose  to  go  at  once?" 

"At  once?  Well,  I  should  like  to  spend  the  winter 
here.  I  have  made  a  number  of  friends  and  life  is  be- 
ginning to  be  pleasant." 

"Exactly!  It  suits  your  convenience,  but  how  about 
Mandy?" 

"Oh,  rubbish !  Must  I  be  governed  by  the  fancies  of 
that  silly  girl?  Besides,  the  whole  thing  is  absurdly 
ridiculous." 

"But  facts  are  stubborn,  and  anyone  can  see  that  the 
girl  is — " 

"Hang  it  all !    I'll  go  at  the  end  of  the  month." 

"Very  well.    And  in  the  leavetaking — ?" 

"What?" 

"It  is  pleasant  to  be  appreciated  and  to  carry  away 
with  one  memories,  I  will  not  say  tender,  but  appre- 
ciative." 

"I  can't  act  like  a  boor.  I  must  be  decent  to  the  girl. 
Besides,  she  isn't  altogether  a  fool." 

"No,  but  very  crude,  very  primitive,  very  passionate, 
and  therefore  very  defenseless." 

"All  right,  I  shall  simply  shake  hands  and  go." 

So,  with  the  consequent  sense  of  relief  that  high  re- 
solve always  brings,  Cameron  lay  down  again  and  fell 
into  slumber  and  dreams  of  home. 


266  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

From  these  dreams  of  home  Mandy  recalled  him  with 
a  summons  to  dinner.  As  his  eye,  still  filled  with  the 
vision  of  his  dreams,  fell  upon  her  in  all  the  gorgeous 
splendour  of  her  Sunday  dress,  he  was  conscious  of  a 
strong  sense  of  repulsion.  How  coarse,  how  crude,  how 
vulgar  she  appeared,  how  horribly  out  of  keeping  with' 
those  scenes  through  which  he  had  just  been  wandering 
in  his  dreams. 

"I  want  no  dinner,  Mandy,"  he  said  shortly.  "I  have 
a  bad  head  and  I  am  not  hungry." 

"No  dinner?"  That  a  man  should  not  want  dinner 
was  to  Mandy  quite  inexplicable,  unless,  indeed,  he 
were  ill. 

"Are  you  sick?"  she  cried  in  quick  alarm. 

"No,  I  have  a  headache.  It  will  pass  away,"  said 
Cameron,  turning  over  on  his  side.  Still  Mandy  lin- 
gered. 

"Let  me  bring  you  a  nice  piece  of  pie  and  a  cup  of 
tea." 

Cameron  shuddered. 

"No,"  he  said,  "bring  me  nothing.  I  merely  wish  to 
Bleep." 

But  Mandy  refused  to  be  driven  away. 

"Say,  I'm  awful  sorry.    I  know  you're  sick." 

"Nonsense!"  said  Cameron,  impatiently,  waiting  for 
her  to  be  gone.  Still  Mandy  hesitated. 

"I'm  awful  sorry,"  she  said  again,  and  her  voice,  deep, 
tender,  full-toned,  revealed  her  emotion. 

Cameron  turned  impatiently  towards  her. 

"Look  here,  Mandy !  There's  nothing  wrong  with  me. 
I  only  want  a  little  sleep.  I  shall  be  all  right  to-mor- 
row." 

But  Mandy*s  "fears  were  not  to  be  allayed, 

"Say,"  she  cried,  "you  look  awful  bad." 


A  SABBATH  DAY  IN  LATE  AUGUST        267 

"Oh,  get  out,  Mandy !  Go  and  get  your  dinner.  Don't 
mind  me."  Cameron's  tone  was  decidedly  cross. 

Without  further  remonstrance  Mandy  turned  silently 
away,  but  before  she  turned  Cameron  caught  the  gleam 
of  tears  in  the  great  blue  eyes.  A  swift  compunction 
seized  him. 

"I  say,  Mandy,  I  don't  want  to  be  rude,  but — " 

"Kude?"  cried  the  girl.  "You?  You  couldn't  be. 
You  are  always  good — to  me — and — I — don't — know — " 
Here  her  voice  broke. 

"Oh,  come,  Mandy,  get  away  to  dinner.  You  are  a 
good  girl.  Now  leave  me  alone." 

The  kindness  in  his  voice  quite  broke  down  Mandy's 
all  too  slight  control.  She  turned  away,  audibly  snif- 
fling, with  her  apron  to  her  eyes,  leaving  Cameron  in  a 
state  of  wrathful  perplexity. 

"Oh,  confound  it  all !"  he  groaned  to  himself.  "This 
is  a  rotten  go.  By  Jove !  This  means  the  West  for  me. 
The  West!  After  all,  that's  the  place.  Here  there  is 
no  chance  anyway.  Why  did  I  not  go  sooner?" 

He  rose  from  the  grass,  shivering  with  a  sudden  chill, 
went  to  his  bed  in  the  hay  mow,  and,  covering  himself 
with  Tim's  blankets  and  his  own,  fell  again  into  sleep. 
Here,  late  in  the  afternoon,  Tim  found  him  and  called 
him  to  supper. 

With  Mandy's  watchful  eye  upon  him  he  went  through 
the  form  of  eating,  but  Mandy  was  not  to  be  deceived. 

"You  ain't  eatin'  nothin',"  she  said  reproachfully  as 
he  rose  from  the  table. 

"Enough  for  a  man  who  is  doing  nothing,"  replied 
Cameron.  "What  I  want  is  exercise.  I  think  I  shall 
take  a  walk." 

"Going  to   church?"   she  enquired,   an   eager   light 

springing  into  her  eye. 


268  COEPORAL    CAMERON 

"To  church?  I  hadn't  thought  of  it,"  replied  Cam- 
eron, but,  catching  the  gleam  of  a  smile  on  Perkins' 
face  and  noting  the  utterly  woebegone  expression  on 
Mandy's,  he  added,  "Well,  I  might  as  well  walk  to 
church  as  any  place  else.  You  are  going,  Tim?" 

"Huh  huh !"  replied  Tim. 

"I  am  going  to  hitch  up  Deck,  Mandy,"  said  Perkins. 

"Oh,  I'm  goin'  to  walk!"  said  Mandy,  emphatically. 

"All  right!"  said  Perkins.  "Guess  I'll  walk  too  with 
the  crowd." 

"Don't  mind  me,"  said  Mandy. 

"I  don't,"  laughed  Perkins,  "you  bet!  Nor  anybody 
else." 

"And  that's  no  lie!"  sniffed  Mandy,  with  a  toss  of 
her  head. 

"Better  drive  to  church,  Mandy,"  suggested  her 
mother.  "You  know  you're  jist  tired  out  and  it  will 
be  late  when  you  get  started." 

"Tired?  Late?"  cried  Mandy,  with  alacrity.  "I'll 
be  through  them  dishes  in  a  jiffy  and  be  ready  in  no 
time.  I  like  the  walk  through  the  woods." 

"Depends  on  the  company,"  laughed  Perkins  again. 
"So  do  I.  Guess  we'll  all  go  together." 

True  to  her  promise,  Mandy  was  ready  within  half  an 
hour.  Cameron  shuddered  as  he  beheld  the  bewildering 
variety  of  colour  in  her  attire  and  the  still  more  bewil- 
dering arrangement  of  hat  and  hair. 

"You're  good  and  gay,  Mandy,"  said  Perkins. 
"What's  the  killing?" 

Mandy  made  no  reply  save  by  a  disdainful  flirt  of 
her  skirts  as  she  set  off  down  the  lane,  followed  by  Per- 
kins, Cameron  and  Tim  bringing  up  the  rear. 

The  lane  was  a  grassy  sward,  cut  with  two  wagon- 
wheel  tracks,  and  with  a  picturesque  snake  fence  on 


A  SABBATH  DAY  IN  LATE  AUGUST       269 

either  side.  Beyond  the  fences  lay  the  fields,  some  of 
them  with  stubble  raked  clean,  the  next  year's  clover 
showing  green  above  the  yellow,  some  with  the  grain 
standing  still  in  the  shock,  and  some  with  the  crop,  the 
late  oats  for  instance,  still  uncut,  but  ready  for  the 
reaper.  The  turnip  field  was  splendidly  and  luxuriantly 
green  with  never  a  sign  of  the  brown  earth.  The  hay 
meadow,  too,  was  green  and  purple  with  the  second 
growth  of  clover. 

So  down  the  lane  and  between  the  shorn  fields,  yel- 
low and  green,  between  the  clover  fields  and  the  turnips, 
they  walked  in  silence,  for  the  spell  of  the  Sabbath  eve- 
ning lay  upon  the  sunny  fields,  barred  with  the  shadows 
from  the  trees  that  grew  along  the  fence  lines  every- 
where. At  the  "slashing"  the  wagon  ruts  faded  out 
and  the  road  narrowed  to  a  single  cow  path,  winding  its 
way  between  stumps  and  round  log  piles,  half  hidden 
by  a  luxuriant  growth  of  foxglove  and  fireweed  and 
asters,  and  everywhere  the  glorious  goldenrod.  Then 
through  the  bars  the  path  led  into  the  woods,  a  noble 
remnant  of  the  beech  and  elm  and  maple  forest  from 
which  the  farm  had  been  cut  some  sixty  years  before. 
Cool  and  shadowy  they  stood,  and  shot  through  with 
bright  shafts  of  gold  from  the  westering  sun,  full  of 
mysterious  silence  except  for  the  twittering  of  the  sleepy 
birds  or  for  the  remonstrant  call  of  the  sentinel  crow 
from  his  watch  tower  on  the  dead  top  of  a  great  elm. 
Deeper  into  the  shade  the  path  ran  until  in  the  gloom  it 
faded  almost  out  of  sight. 

Soothed  by  the  cool  shade,  Cameron  loitered  along 
the  path,  pausing  to  learn  of  Tim  the  names  of  plants 
and  trees  as  he  went. 

"Ain't  yeh  never  comin'?"  called  Mandy  from  the 
gloom  far  in  front. 


270  COEPOEAL    CAMEEON 

"What's  all  the  rush?"  replied  Tim,  impatiently,  who 
loved  nothing  better  than  a  quiet  walk  with  Cameron 
through  the  wroods. 

"Eush?  We'll  be  late,  and  I  hate  walkin'  up  before 
the  hull  crowd.  Come  on !"  cried  his  sister  in  impatient 
tone. 

"All  right,  Mandy,  we're  nearly  through  the  woods. 
I  begin  to  see  the  clearing  yonder,"  said  Cameron,  point- 
ing to  where  the  light  w^as  beginning  to  show  through 
the  tree  tops  before  them. 

But  they  were  late  enough,  and  Mandy  was  glad  of 
the  cover  of  the  opening  hymn  to  allow  her  to  find  her 
way  to  a  group  of  her  girl  friends,  the  males  of  the 
party  taking  shelter  with  a  neighbouring  group  of  their 
own  sex  near  by. 

Upon  the  sloping  sides  of  the  grassy  hills  and  under 
the  beech  and  maple  trees,  the  vanguard  of  the  retreat- 
ing woods,  sat  the  congregation,  facing  the  preacher, 
•who  stood  on  the  grassy  level  below.  Behind  them  was 
the  solid  wall  of  thick  woods,  over  them  the  spreading 
boughs,  and  far  above  the  trees  the  blue  summer  sky, 
all  the  bluer  for  the  little  white  clouds  that  sailed  serene 
like  ships  upon  a  sea.  At  their  feet  lay  the  open  coun- 
try, checkered  by  the  snake  fences  into  fields  of  yellow, 
green,  and  brown,  and  rolling  away  to  meet  the  woods 
at  the  horizon. 

The  Sabbath  rest  filled  the  sweet  air,  breathed  from 
the  shady  woods,  rested  upon  the  checkered  fields,  and 
lifted  with  the  hymn  to  the  blue  heaven  above.  A 
stately  cathedral  it  was,  this  place  of  worship,  filled  with 
the  incense  of  flowers  and  fields,  arched  by  the  high 
dome  of  heaven,  and  lighted  by  the  glory  of  the  setting 
Bun. 

Eelieved  by  the  walk  for  a  time  from  the  ache  in  his 


"A  SABBATH  DAY  IN  LATE  AUGUST"      271 

head,  Cameron  surrendered  himself  to  the  mysterious 
influences  of  the  place  and  the  hour.  He  let  his  eyes 
wander  over  the  fields  below  him  to  the  far  horizon, 
and  beyond — beyond  the  woods,  beyond  the  intervening 
leagues  of  land  and  sea — and  was  again  gazing  upon  the 
sunlit  loveliness  of  the  Cuagh  Oir.  The  Glen  was  abrim 
with  golden  light  this  summer  evening,  the  purple  was 
on  the  hills  and  the  little  loch  gleamed  sapphire  at  the 
bottom. 

The  preacher  was  reading  his  text. 

"Unto  one  he  gave  five  talents,  to  another  two,  to 
another  one,  to  every  man  according  to  his  several  abil- 
ity, and  straightway  took  his  journey,"  and  so  on  to  the 
end  of  that  marvellously  wise  tale,  wise  with  the  wisdom 
of  God,  confirmed  by  the  wisdom  of  human  experience. 

The  Reverend  Harper  Freeman's  voice  could  hardly, 
even  by  courtesy,  be  called  musical;  in  fact,  it  was 
harsh  and  strident;  but  this  evening  the  hills,  and  the 
trees,  and  the  wide  open  spaces,  Nature's  mighty  modu- 
lator, subdued  the  harshness,  so  that  the  voice  rolled 
up  to  the  people  clear,  full,  and  sonorous.  Nor  was  the 
preacher  possessed  of  great  learning  nor  endued  with 
the  gift  of  eloquence.  He  had,  however,  a  shrewd  knowl- 
edge of  his  people  and  of  their  ways  and  of  their  needs, 
and  he  had  a  kindly  heart,  and,  more  than  all,  he  had 
the  preacher's  gift,  the  divine  capacity  for  taking  fire. 

For  a  time  his  words  fell  unheeded  upon  Cameron's 
outer  ear. 

"To  every  man  his  own  endowments,  some  great,  some 
small,  but,  mark  you,  no  man  left  quite  poverty-stricken. 
God  gives  every  man  his  chance.  No  man  can  look  God 
in  the  face,  not  one  of  you  here  can  say  that  you  have 
had  no  chance." 

Cameron's    vagrant    mind,    suddenly    recalled,    re- 


272  COKPOKAL    CAMERON 

sponded  with  a  quick  assent.  Opportunity?  Endow- 
ment? Yes,  surely.  His  mind  flashed  back  over  the 
years  of  his  education  at  the  Academy  and  the  Uni- 
versity, long  lazy  years.  How  little  he  had  made  of 
them!  Others  had  turned  them  into  the  gold  of  suc- 
cess. He  wondered  how  old  Dunn  was  getting  on,  and 
Linklater,  and  little  Martin.  How  far  away  seemed 
those  days,  and  yet  only  some  four  or  five  months  sepa- 
rated him  from  them. 

"One  was  a  failure,  a  dead,  flat  failure,"  continued 
the  preacher.  "Not  so  much  a  wicked  man,  no  mur- 
derer, no  drunkard,  no  gambler,  but  a  miserable  failure. 
Poor  fellow!  At  the  end  of  life  a  wretched  bankrupt, 
losing  even  his  original  endowment.  How  would  you 
like  to  come  home  after  ten,  twenty,  thirty  years  of 
experiment  with  life  and  confess  to  your  father  that 
you  were  dead  broke  and  no  good?" 

Again  Cameron's  mind  came  back  from  its  wander- 
ing with  a  start.  Go  back  to  his  father  a  failure!  He 
drew  his  lip  down  hard  over  his  teeth.  Not  while  he 
lived!  And  yet,  what  was  there  in  prospect  for  him? 
His  whole  soul  revolted  against  the  dreary  monotony 
and  the  narrowness  of  his  present  life,  and  yet,  what 
other  path  lay  open?  Cameron  went  straying  in  fancy 
over  the  past,  or  in  excursions  into  the  future,  while, 
parallel  with  his  rambling,  the  sermon  continued  to 
make  its  way  through  its  various  heads  and  particu- 
lars. 

"Why?"  The  voice  of  the  preacher  rose  clear,  dom- 
inant, arresting.  "Why  did  he  fail  so  abjectly,  so 
meanly,  so  despicably?  For  there  is  no  excuse  for  a 
failure.  Listen!  No  man  need  fail.  A  man  who  is  a 
failure  is  a  mean,  selfish,  lazy  chump."  Mr.  Freeman 
was  colloquial,  if  anything.  "Some  men  pity  him.  I 


don't.    I  have  no  use  for  him,  and  he  is  the  one  thing  in 
all  the  world  that  God  himself  has  no  use  for." 

Again  Cameron's  mind  was  jerked  back  as  a  run- 
away horse  by  a  rein.  So  far  his  life  had  been  a  failure. 
Was  there  then  no  excuse  for  failure?  What  of  his  up- 
bringing, his  education,  his  environment?  He  had  been 
indulging  the  habit  during  these  last  weeks  of  shifting 
responsibility  from  himself  for  what  he  had  becoma 

"What  was  the  cause  of  this  young  man's  failure?" 
reiterated  the  preacher.  The  preacher  had  a  wholesome 
belief  in  the  value  of  reiteration.  He  had  a  habit  of 
rubbing  in  his  points.  "He  blamed  the  boss.  Listen  to 
his  impudence!  'I  knew  thee  to  be  a  hard  man/  He 
blamed  his  own  temperament  and  disposition.  'I  was 
afraid.'  But  the  boss  brings  him  up  sharp  and  short 
'Quit  lying!'  he  said.  Til  tell  you  what's  wrong  with 
you.  You've  got  a  mean  heart,  you  ain't  honest,  and 
you're  too  lazy  to  live.  Here,  take  that  money  from  him 
and  give  it  to  the  man  that  can  do  most  with  it,  and 
take  this  useless  loafer  out  of  my  sight.'  And  served 
him  right,  too,  say  I,  impudent,  lazy  liar." 

Cameron  found  his  mind  rising  in  wrathful  defense 
of  the  unhappy  wretched  failure  in  the  story.  But  the 
preacher  was  utterly  relentless  and  proceeded  to  en- 
large upon  the  character  of  the  unhappy  wretch. 

"Impudent !  The  way  to  tell  an  impudent  man  is  to 
let  him  talk.  Now  listen  to  this  man  cheek  the  boss !  'I 
knew  you,'  he  said.  'You  skin  everybody  in  sight.'  I 
have  always  noticed,"  remarked  the  preacher,  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye,  "that  the  hired  man  who  can't  keep 
up  his  end  is  the  kind  that  cheeks  the  boss.  And  so  it 
is  with  life.  Why,  some  men  would  cheek  Almighty 
God.  They  turn  right  round  and  face  the  other  way 
when  God  is  explaining  things  to  them,  when  He  is 


274  CORPORAL   CAMERON 

persuading  them,  when  He  is  trying  to  help  them.  Then 
they  glance  back  over  their  shoulders  and  say,  *Aw, 
gwan!  I  know  better  than  you.'  Think  of  the  impu- 
dence of  them!  That's  what  many  a  man  does  with 
God.  With  God,  mind  you!  God!  Your  Father  in 
heaven,  your  Brother,  your  Saviour,  God  as  you  know 
him  in  the  Man  of  Galilee,  the  Man  you  always  see  with 
the  sick  and  the  outcast  and  the  broken-hearted.  It  is 
this  God  that  owns  you  and  all  you've  got — be  honest 
and  say  so.  You  must  begin  by  getting  right  with  God." 

"God!"  Once  more  Cameron  went  wandering  back 
into  the  far  away  days  of  childhood.  God  was  very 
near  then,  and  very  friendly.  How  well  he  remembered 
when  his  mother  had  tucked  him  in  at  night  and  had 
kissed  him  and  had  put  out  the  light.  He  never  felt 
alone  and  afraid,  for  she  left  him,  so  she  said,  with 
God.  It  was  God  who  took  his  mother's  place,  near  to 
his  bedside.  In  those  days  God  seemed  very  near  and 
very  kind.  He  remembered  his  mother's  look  one  day 
when  he  declared  to  her  that  he  could  hear  God  breath- 
ing just  beside  him  in  the  dark.  How  remote  God 
seemed  to-day  and  how  shadowy,  and,  yes,  he  had  to 
confess  it,  unfriendly.  He  heard  no  more  of  the  sermon. 
With  a  curious  ache  in  his  heart  he  allowed  his  mind 
to  dwell  amid  those  happy,  happy  memories  when  his 
mother  and  God  were  the  nearest  and  dearest  to  him 
of  all  he  knew.  It  may  have  been  the  ache  in  his  head 
or  the  oppressive  languor  that  seemed  to  possess  his 
body,  but  throughout  the  prayer  that  followed  the  ser- 
mon he  was  conscious  chiefly  of  a  great  longing  for 
his  mother's  touch  upon  his  head,  and  with  that  a  long- 
ing for  his  boyhood's  sense  of  the  friendly  God  in  his 
heart. 

And  so  as  the  preacher  led  them  up  to  God  in  prayer, 


*      A  SABBATH  DAY  IN  LATE  AUGUST      275 

Cameron  bowed  his  head  with  the  others,  thankful  that 
he  could  still  believe  that,  though  clouds  and  darkness 
might  be  about  Him,  God  was  not  beyond  the  reach  of 
the  soul's  cry  nor  quite  unmoved  by  human  need.  And 
for  the  first  time  for  years  he  sent  forth  as  a  little  child 
his  cry  of  need,  "God  help  me !  God  help  me !" 


276  COBPOBAL   CAMEBON 

CHAPTER   JVII 

THE  CHIVAREE 

THEBE  was  still  light  enough  to  see.     The  last 
hymn  was  announced.    Cameron  was  conscious 
of  a  deep,  poignant  emotion.    He  glanced  swiftly 
about  him.     The  eyes  of  all  were  upon  the  preacher's 
face  while  he  read  in  slow  sonorous  tones  the  words  of 
the  old  Methodist  hymn : 

"Come,  Thou  Fount  of  every  blessing! 
Tune  my  heart  to  sing  Thy  grace;" 

all  except  the  group  of  young  men  of  whom  Perkins 
was  the  centre,  who,  by  means  of  the  saccharine  medium 
known  as  conversation  lozenges,  were  seeking  to  divert 
the  attention  of  the  band  of  young  girls  sitting  before 
them.  Among  these  sat  Mandy.  As  his  eye  rested 
upon  the  billowy  outlines  of  her  figure,  struggling  with 
the  limitations  of  her  white  blouse,  tricked  out  with 
pink  ribbons,  he  was  conscious  of  a  wave  of  mingled 
pity  and  disgust.  Dull,  stupid,  and  vulgar  she  looked. 
It  was  at  her  that  Perkins  was  flipping  his  conversation 
lozenges.  One  fell  upon  her  hymn  book.  With  a  start 
she  glanced  about.  Not  an  eye  except  Cameron's  was 
turned  her  way.  With  a  smile  and  a  blush  that  burned 
deep  under  the  dull  tan  of  her  neck  and  cheek  she  took 
the  lozenge,  read  its  inscription,  burning  a  deeper  red. 
The  words  which  she  had  read  she  took  as  Cameron's. 
She  turned  her  eyes  full  upon  his  face.  The  light  of 
tremulous  joy  in  their  lovely  depths  startled  and  thrilled 
him.  A  snicker  from  the  group  of  young  men  behind 
roused  in  him  a  deep  indignation.  They  were  taking 
their  coarse  fun  out  of  this  simple-minded  girl.  Cam- 


THECHIVAEEE  277 

eron's  furious  glance  at  them  appeared  only  to  increase 
their  amusement.  It  did  not  lessen  Cameron's  embar- 
rassment and  rage  that  now  and  then  during  the  read- 
ing of  the  hymn  Mandy's  eyes  were  turned  upon  him 
as  if  with  new  understanding.  Enraged  with  himself, 
and  more  with  the  group  of  hoodlums  behind  him,  Cam- 
eron stood  for  the  closing  hymn  with  his  arms  folded 
across  his  breast.  At  the  second  verse  a  hand  touched 
his  arm.  It  was  Mandy  offering  him  her  book.  Once 
more  a  snicker  from  the  group  of  delighted  observers 
behind  him  stirred  his  indignation  on  behalf  of  this 
awkward  and  untutored  girl.  He  forced  himself  to 
listen  to  the  words  of  the  third  verse,  which  rose  clear 
and  sonorous  in  the  preacher's  voice : 

"Here  I  raise  my  Ebenezer, 

Hither  by  Thy  help  I'm  come; 
And  I  hope,  by  Thy  good  pleasure, 
Safely  to  arrive  at  home." 

The  serene  assurance  of  the  old  Methodist  hymn  rose 
triumphant  in  the  singing,  an  assurance  born  of  an  ex- 
perience of  past  conflict  ending  in  triumph.  That  note 
of  high  and  serene  confidence  conjured  up  with  a  flash 
of  memory  his  mother's  face.  That  was  her  character- 
istic, a  serene,  undismayed  courage.  In  the  darkest 
hours  that  steady  flame  of  courage  never  died  down. 

But  once  more  he  was  recalled  to  the  service  of  the 
hour  by  a  voice,  rich,  full,  low,  yet  of  wonderful  power, 
singing  the  old  words.  It  took  him  a  moment  or  two  to 
discover  that  it  was  Mandy  singing  beside  him.  Her 
face  was  turned  from  him  and  upwards  towards  the 
trees  above  her,  through  the  network  of  whose  leaves 
the  stars  were  beginning  to  shine.  Amazed,  enthralled, 
he  listened  to  the  flowing  melody  of  her  voice.  It  was 
like  the  song  of  a  brook  running  deep  in  the  forest 


278  COEPOEAt   CAMEEON 

shade,  full  toned  yet  soft,  quiet  yet  thrilling.  She 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  her  surroundings.  Her  soul 
was  holding  converse  with  the  Eternal.  He  lost  sight 
of  the  coarse  and  fleshly  habiliments  in  the  glimpse  he 
caught  of  the  soul  that  lived  within,  pure,  it  seemed 
to  him,  tender,  and  good.  His  heart  went  out  to  the 
girl  in  a  new  pity.  Before  the  hymn  was  done  she 
turned  her  face  towards  him,  and,  whether  it  was  the 
magic  of  her  voice,  or  the  glorious  splendour  of  her 
eyes,  or  the  mystic  touch  of  the  fast  darkening  night, 
her  face  seemed  to  have  lost  much  of  its  coarseness  and 
all  of  its  stupidity. 

As  the  congregation  dispersed,  Cameron,  in  silence, 
and  with  the  spell  of  her  voice  still  upon  him,  walked 
quietly  beside  Mandy  towards  the  gap  in  the  fence  lead- 
ing to  the  high  road.  Behind  him  came  Perkins  with 
his  group  of  friends,  chaffing  with  each  other  and  with 
the  girls  walking  in  front  of  them.  As  Cameron  was 
stepping  over  the  rails  where  the  fence  had  been  let 
down,  one  of  the  young  men  following  stumbled  heavily 
against  him,  nearly  throwing  him  down,  and  before  he 
could  recover  himself  Perkins  had  taken  his  place  by 
Mandy's  side  and  seized  her  arm.  There  was  a  general 
laugh  at  what  was  considered  a  perfectly  fair  and  not 
unusual  piece  of  jockeying  in  the  squiring  of  young 
damsels.  The  proper  procedure  in  such  a  case  was  that 
the  discomfited  cavalier  should  bide  his  time  and  serve 
a  like  turn  upon  his  rival,  the  young  lady  meanwhile 
maintaining  an  attitude  purely  passive.  But  Mandy 
was  not  so  minded.  Eeleasing  herself  from  Perkins' 
grasp,  she  turned  upon  the  group  of  young  men  follow- 
ing, exclaiming  angrily,  "You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
yourself,  Sam  Sailor!"  Then,  moving  to  Cameron's 
Bide,  she  said  in  a  clear,  distinct  voice : 


THE    CHIVAREE  279 

"Mr.  Cameron,  would  you  please  take  my  book  for 
me?" 

"Come  on,  boys !"  said  Perkins,  with  his  never  failing 
laugh.  "I  guess  we're  not  in  this." 

"Take  your  medicine,  Perkins,"  laughed  one  of  his 
friends. 

"Yes,  I'll  take  it  all  right,"  replied  Perkins.  But  the 
laugh  could  not  conceal  the  shake  of  passion  in  his 
voice.  "It  will  work,  too,  you  bet!" 

So  saying,  he  strode  off  into  the  gathering  gloom  fol- 
lowed by  his  friends. 

"Come  along,  Mr.  Cameron,"  said  Mandy  with  a  silly 
giggle.  "I  guess  we  don't  need  them  fellows.  They 
can't  fool  us,  can  they?" 

Her  manner,  her  speech,  her  laugh  rudely  dissipated 
all  Cameron's  new  feeling  towards  her.  The  whole  epi- 
sode filled  him  only  with  disgust  and  annoyance. 

"Come,  then,"  he  said,  almost  roughly.  "We  shall 
need  to  hurry,  for  there  is  a  storm  coming  up." 

Mandy  glanced  at  the  gathering  clouds. 

"My  goodness!"  she  cried;  "it's  comin'  up  fast.  My! 
I  hate  to  git  my  clothes  wet."  And  off  she  set  at  a  rapid 
pace,  keeping  abreast  of  her  companion  and  making 
gay  but  elephantine  attempts  at  sprightly  conversation. 
Before  Cameron's  unsympathetic  silence,  however,  all 
her  sprightly  attempts  came  to  abject  failure. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  at  length  she  asked. 
"Don't  you  want  to  see  me  home?" 

"What?"  said  Cameron,  abruptly,  for  his  thoughts 
were  far  away.  "Oh,  nonsense !  Of  course !  Why  not? 
But  we  shall  certainly  be  caught  in  the  storm.  Let  UB 
hurry.  Here,  let  me  take  your  arm." 

His  manner  was  brusque,  almost  rude. 

"Oh,  I  guess  I  can  get  along,"  replied  Mandy,  catch- 


280  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

ing  off  her  hat  and  gathering  up  her  skirt  over  her 
shoulders,  "but  we'll  have  to  hustle,  for  I'd  hate  to  have 
you  get  wet."  Her  imperturbable  good  humour  and  her 
solicitude  for  him  rebuked  Cameron  for  his  abrupt- 
ness. 

"I  hope  you  will  not  get  wet,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  don't  you  worry  about  me.  I  ain't  salt  nor 
sugar,  but  I  forgot  all  about  your  bein'  sick."  And 
with  laboured  breath  poor  Mandy  hurried  through  the 
growing  darkness  with  Cameron  keeping  close  by  her 
side.  "We  won't  be  long  now,"  she  panted,  as  they 
turned  from  the  side  line  towards  their  own  gate. 

As  if  in  reply  to  her  words  there  sounded  from  behind 
the  fence  and  close  to  their  side  a  long  loud  howl.  Cam- 
eron gave  a  start. 

"Great  Caesar !    What  dog  is  that?"  he  exclaimed. 

"Oh,"  said  Mandy  coolly,  "guess  it's  MacKenzie's 
Carlo." 

Immediately  there  rose  from  the  fence  on  the  other 
side  an  answering  howl,  followed  by  a  full  chorus  of 
howls  and  yelps  mingled  with  a  bawling  of  calves  and 
the  ringing  of  cow  bells,  as  if  a  dozen  curs  or  more  were 
in  full  cry  after  a  herd  of  cattle,  Cameron  stood  still  in 
bewildered  amazement. 

"What  the  deuce  are  they  at?"  he  cried,  peering 
through  the  darkness. 

"Huh !"  grunted  Mandy.  "Them's  curs  all  right,  but 
they  ain't  much  dog.  You  wait  till  I  see  them  fellows. 
They'll  pay  for  this,  you  bet!" 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  these  are  not  dogs?"  cried  Cam- 
eron, speaking  in  her  ear,  so  great  was  the  din. 

"Dogs?"  answered  Mandy  with  indignant  scorn. 
"Naw!  Just  or'nary  curs!  Come  along,"  she  cried, 
catching  his  arm,  "let's  hurry." 


THECHIVAREE  281 

"Here!"  he  cried,  suddenly  wrenching  himself  free, 
"I  am  going  to  see  into  this." 

"No,  no!"  cried  Mandy,  gripping  his  arm  once  more 
with  her  strong  hands.  "They  will  hurt  you.  Come  on ! 
We're  just  home.  You  can  see  them  again.  No,  I  won't 
let  you  go." 

In  vain  he  struggled.  Her  strong  hands  held  him  fast. 
Suddenly  there  was  a  succession  of  short,  sharp  barks. 
Immediately  dead  silence  fell.  Not  a  sound  could  be 
heard,  not  a  shape  seen. 

"Come  out  into  the  open,  you  cowardly  curs !"  shouted 
Cameron.  "Come  on!  One,  two,  three  at  a  time,  if 
you  dare!" 

But  silence  answered  him. 

"Come,"  said  Mandy  in  a  low  voice,  "let's  hurry.  It's 
goin'  to  rain.  Come  on!  Come  along!" 

Cameron  stood  irresolute.  Then  arose  out  of  the 
black  darkness  a  long  quavering  cat  call.  With  a  sud- 
den dash  Cameron  sprang  towards  the  fence.  Instantly 
there  was  a  sound  of  running  feet  through  the  plowed 
field  on  the  other  side,  then  silence. 

"Come  back,  you  cowards!"  raged  Cameron.  "Isn't 
there  a  man  among  you?" 

For  answer  a  clod  came  Hurtling  through  the  dark 
and  struck  with  a  thud  upon  the  fence.  Immediately, 
as  if  at  a  signal,  there  fell  about  Cameron  a  perfect 
hail  of  clods  and  even  stones. 

"Oh!  Oh!"  shrieked  Mandy,  rushing  towards  him 
and  throwing  herself  between  him  and  the  falling  mis- 
siles. "Come  away!  Come  away!  They'll  just  kill 
you." 

For  answer  Cameron  put  his  arms  about  her  and 
drew  her  behind  him,  shielding  her  as  best  he  could 
with  his  body. 


282  CORPORAL   CAMERON 

"Do  you  want  to  kill  a  woman?"  he  called  aloud. 

"A.t  once  the  hail  of  clods  ceased  and,  raging  as  he 
was,  Mandy  dragged  him  homeward.  At  the  door  of 
the  house  he  made  to  turn  back. 

"Not  much,  you  don't,"  said  Mandy,  stoutly,  "or  I  go 
with  you." 

"Oh,  all  right,"  said  Cameron,  "let  them  go.  They 
are  only  a  lot  of  curs,  anyway." 

For  a  few  minutes  they  stood  and  talked  in  the 
kitchen,  Cameron  making  light  of  the  incident  and  mak- 
ing strenuous  efforts  to  dissemble  the  rage  that  filled 
his  soul.  After  a  few  minutes  conversation  Cameron 
announced  his  intention  of  going  to  bed,  while  Mandy 
passed  upstairs.  He  left  the  house  and  stole  down  the 
lane  toward  the  road.  The  throbbing  pain  in  his  head 
was  forgotten  in  the  blind  rage  that  possessed  him.  He 
had  only  one  longing,  to  stand  within  striking  dis- 
tance of  the  cowardly  curs,  only  one  fear,  that  they 
should  escape  him.  Swiftly,  silently,  he  stole  down  the 
lane,  every  nerve,  every  muscle  tense  as  a  steel  spring. 
His  throat  was  hot,  his*  eyes  so  dazzled  that  he  could 
scarcely  see ;  his  breath  came  in  quick  gasps ;  his  hands 
were  trembling  as  with  a  nervous  chill.  The  storm  had 
partially  blown  away.  It  had  become  so  light  that  he 
could  dimly  discern  a  number  of  figures  at  the  entrance 
to  the  lane.  Having  his  quarry  in  sight,  Cameron 
crouched  in  the  fence  corner,  holding  hard  by  the  rail 
till  he  should  become  master  of  himself.  He  could  hear 
their  explosions  of  suppressed  laughter.  It  was  some 
minutes  before  he  had  himself  in  hand,  then  with  a 
swift  silent  run  he  stood  among  them.  So  busy  were 
they  in  recounting  the  various  incidents  in  the  recent 
"chivaree,"  that  before  they  were  aware  Cameron  was 
upon  them.  At  his  approach  the  circle  broke  and  scat- 


THE    CHIVAREE  283 

tered,  some  flying  to  the  fence.  But  Perkins  with  some 
others  stood  their  ground. 

"Hello,  Cameron!"  drawled  Perkins.  "Did  you  see 
our  cows?  I  thought  I  heard  some  of  them  down  the 
line." 

For  answer  Cameron  launched  himself  at  him  like  a 
bolt  from  a  bow.  There  was  a  single  sharp  crack  and 
Perkins  was  literally  lifted  clear  off  his  feet  and  hurled 
back  upon  the  road,  where  he  lay  still.  Fiercely  Cam- 
eron faced  round  to  the  next  man,  but  he  gave  back 
quickly.  A  third  sprang  to  throw  himself  upon  Cam- 
eron, but  once  more  Cameron's  hand  shot  forward  and 
his  assailant  was  hurled  back  heavily  into  the  arms  of 
his  friends.  Before  Cameron  could  strike  again  a 
young  giant,  known  as  Sam  Sailor,  flung  his  arms  about 
him,  crying — 

"Tut-tut,  young  fellow,  this  won't  do,  you  know. 
Can't  you  take  a  bit  of  fun?" 

For  answer  Cameron  clinched  him  savagely,  gripping 
him  by  the  throat  and  planting  two  heavy  blows  upon 
his  ribs. 

"Here — boys,"  gasped  the  young  fellow,  "he's — chok- 
in' — the — life — out — of  me." 

From  all  sides  they  threw  themselves  upon  him  and, 
striking,  kicking,  fighting  furiously,  Cameron  went 
down  under  the  struggling  mass,  his  hand  still  gripping 
the  throat  it  had  seized. 

"Say!  He's  a  regular  bull-dog,"  cried  one.  "Git 
hold  of  his  legs  and  yank  him  off,"  which,  with  shouts 
and  laughter,  they  proceeded  to  do  and  piled  themselves 
upon  him,  chanting  the  refrain — "More  beef!  More 
beef!" 

A  few  minutes  more  of  frantic  struggling  and  a  wild 
agonised  scream  rose  from  beneath  the  mass  of  men. 


284  COKPORAL    CAMEKON 

"Git  off,  boys!  Git  off!"  roared  the  young  giant. 
"I'm  afraid  he's  hurt." 

Flinging  them  off  on  either  side,  he  stood  up  and 
waited  for  their  victim  to  rise.  But  Cameron  lay  on  his 
face,  moaning  and  writhing,  on  the  ground. 

"Say,  boys,"  said  Sam,  kneeling  down  beside  him, 
"I'm  afraid  he's  hurted  bad." 

In  his  writhing  Cameron  lifted  one  leg.  It  toppled 
over  to  one  side. 

"Jumpin'  Jeremiah!"  said  Sam  in  an  awed  voice. 
"His  leg's  broke!  What  in  Sam  Hill  can  we  do?" 

As  he  spoke  there  was  a  sound  of  running  feet,  com- 
ing down  the  lane.  The  moon,  shining  through  the 
breaking  clouds,  revealed  a  figure  with  floating  gar- 
ments rapidly  approaching. 

"My  cats!"  cried  Sam  in  a  terrified  voice.  "It's 
Mandy." 

Like  leaves  before  a  sudden  gust  of  wind  the  group 
scattered  and  only  Sam  was  left. 

"What — what  are  you  doin'?"  panted  Mandy. 
"Where  is  he?  Oh,  is  that  him?"  She  flung  herself 
down  in  the  dust  beside  Cameron  and  turned  him  over. 
His  face  was  white,  his  eyes  glazed.  He  looked  like 
death.  "Oh !  Oh !"  she  moaned.  "Have  they  killed  you? 
Have  they  killed  you?"  She  gathered  his  head  upon  her 
knees,  moaning  like  a  wounded  animal. 

"Good  Lord,  Mandy,  don't  go  on  like  that!"  cried 
Sam  in  a  horrified  voice.  "It's  only  his  leg  broke." 

Mandy  laid  his  head  gently  down,  then  sprang  to  her 
feet. 

"Only  his  leg  broke?  Who  done,  it?  Who  done  it, 
tell  me?  Who  done  it?"  she  panted,  her  voice  rising 
with  her  gasping  breath.  "What  coward  done  it?  Was 
it  you,  Sam  Sailor?" 


THE    CHIVAREE  285 

"Guess  we're  all  in  it,"  said  Sam  stupidly.  "It  was 
jist  a  bit  of  fun,  Mandy." 

For  answer  she  swung  her  heavy  hand  hard  upon 
Sam's  face. 

"Say,  Mandy !  Hold  hard !"  cried  Sam,  surprise  and 
the  weight  of  the  blow  almost  knocking  him  off  his 
feet. 

"You  cowardly  brute !"  she  gasped.  "Get  out  of  my 
sight.  Oh,  what  shall  we  do?"  She  dropped  on  her 
knees  and  took  Cameron's  head  once  more  in  her  arms. 
"What  shall  we  do?" 

"Guess  we'll  have  to  git  him  in  somewheres,"  said  Sam. 
"How  can  we  carry  him  though?  If  we  had  some  kind 
of  a  stretcher?" 

"Wait !     I  know,"  cried  Mandy,  flying  off  up  the  lane. 

Before  many  minutes  had  passed  she  had  returned, 
breathing  hard. 

"It's — the — milkhouse — door,"  she  said.  "I — guess 
that'll— do." 

"That'll  do  all  right,  Mandy.  Now  I  wish  some  of 
them  fellers  would  come." 

Sam  pulled  off  his  coat  and  made  of  it  a  pillow,  then 
stood  up  looking  for  help.  His  eye  fell  upon  the  pros- 
trate and  senseless  form  of  Perkins. 

"Say,  what'll  we  do  with  him?"  he  said,  pointing  to 
the  silent  figure. 

"Who  is  it?"  enquired  Mandy.    "What's  the  matter?" 

"It's  Perkins,"  replied  Sam.  "He  hit  him  a  terrible 
crack."" 

"Perkins!"  said  Mandy  with  scorn.  "Let  him  lie, 
the  dog.  Come  on,  take  his  head." 

"You  can't  do  it,  Mandy,  no  use  trying.  You  can't 
do  it" 

"Come  on,  I  tell  you,"  she  said  fiercely.    "Quit  your 


286  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

jawin'.  He  may  be  dyin'  for  all  I  know.  I'd  carry  him 
alone  if  it  wasn't  for  his  broken  leg."  Slowly,  pain- 
fully they  carried  him  to  the  house  and  to  the  front 
door. 

"Wait  a  minute !"  said  Mandy.  "I'll  have  to  git  things 
fixed  a  bit.  We  mustn't  wake  mother.  It  would  scare 
her  to  death." 

She  passed  quickly  into  the  house  and  soon  Sam  saw 
a  light  pass  from  room  to  room.  In  a  few  moments 
Mandy  reappeared  at  the  front  door. 

"Quick !"  whispered  Sam.    "He's  comin'  to." 

"Oh,  thank  goodness !"  cried  Mandy.  "Let's  git  him 
in  before  he  wakes." 

Once  more  they  lifted  their  burden  and  with  infinite 
difficulty  and  much  painful  manoeuvering  they  got  the 
injured  man  through  the  doors  and  upon  the  spare  room 
bed. 

"And  now,  Sam  Sailor,"  cried  Mandy,  coming  close 
to  him,  "you  jist  hitch  up  Deck  and  hustle  for  the  doc- 
tor if  ever  you  did  in  your  life.  Don't  wait  for  nothing 
but  go !  Go !"  She  fairly  pushed  him  out  of  the  door, 
running  with  him  towards  the  stable.  "Oh,  Sam,  hurry !" 
she  pleaded,  "for  if  this  man  should  die  I  will  never  be 
the  like  again."  Her  face  was  white,  her  eyes  glowing 
like  great  stars ;  her  voice  was  soft  and  tremulous  with 
tears. 

Sam  stood  for  a  moment  gazing  as  if  upon  a  vision. 

"What  are  you  lookin'  at?"  she  cried,  stamping  her 
foot  and  pushing  him  away. 

"Jumpin'  Jeremiah!"  muttered  Sam,  as  he  ran 
towards  the  stable.  "Is  that  Mandy  Haley?  Guess  we 
don't  know  much  about  her." 

His  nimble  fingers  soon  had  Dexter  hitched  to  the 
buggy  and  speeding  down  the  lane  at  a  pace  sufficiently 


THECHIVAREE  287 

rapid  to  suit  the  high  spirit  of  even  that  fiery  young 
colt. 

At  the  high  road  he  came  upon  his  friends,  some  of 
whom  were  working  with  Perkins,  others  conversing  in 
awed  and  hurried  undertones. 

"Hello,  Sam!"  they  called.    "Hold  up!" 

"I'm  in  a  hurry,  boys,  don't  stop  me.  I'm  scared  to 
death.  And  you  better  git  homa  She'll  be  down  on  you 
again." 

"How  is  he?"  cried  a  voice. 

"Don't  know.  I'm  goin'  for  the  doctor,  and  the  sooner 
we  git  that  doctor  the  better  for  everybody  around." 
And  Sam  disappeared  in  a  whirl  of  dust. 

"Say !  Who  would  a  thought  it?"  he  mused.  "That 
Mandy  Haley?  She's  a  terror.  And  them  eyes!  Oh, 
git  on,  Deck,  what  you  monkey  in'  about?  Wonder  if 
she's  gone  on  that  young  feller?  I  guess  she  is  all  right! 
Say,  wasn't  that  a  clout  he  handed  Perkins.  And  didn't 
she  give  me  one.  But  them  eyes!  Mandy  Haley!  By 
the  jumpin'  Jeremiah !  And  the  way  she  looks  at  a  fel- 
ler !  Here,  Deck,  what  you  foolin'  about?  Gwan  now, 
or  you'll  git  into  trouble." 

Deck,  who  had  been  indulging  himself  in  a  series  of 
leaps  and  plunges,  shying  at  even  the  most  familiar 
objects  by  the  road  side,  settled  down  at  length  to  a 
businesslike  trot  which  brought  him  to  the  doctor's 
door  in  about  fifteen  minutes  from  the  Haleys'  gate. 
But  to  Sam's  dismay  the  doctor  had  gone  to  Cramm's 
Mill,  six  or  seven  miles  away,  and  would  not  be  back 
till  the  morning.  Sam  was  in  a  quandary.  There  was 
another  doctor  at  Brookfield,  five  miles  further  on,  but 
there  was  a  possibility  that  he  also  might  be  out. 

"Say,  there  ain't  no  use  goin'  back  without  a  doctor. 
She'd— she'd— Jumpin'  Jeremiah !  What  would  she  do? 


288  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

Say,  Deck,  you've  got  to  git  down  to  business.  We're 
goin'  to  the  city.  There  are  doctors  there  thick  as  hair 
on  a  dog.  We'll  try  Dr.  Turnbull.  Say,  it'll  be  great 
if  we  could  git  him!  Deck,  we'll  do  itl  But  you  got 
to  git  up  and  dust." 

And  this  Deck  proceeded  to  do  to  such  good  purpose 
that  in  about  an  hour's  time  he  stood  before  Dr.  Turn- 
bull's  door  in  the  city,  somewhat  wet,  it  is  true,  but  with 
his  fiery  spirit  still  untamed. 

Here  again  adverse  fate  met  the  unfortunate  Sam. 

"Doctor  Turnbull's  no  at  home,"  said  the  maid,  smart 
with  cap  and  apron,  who  opened  the  door. 

"How  long  will  he  be  gone?"  enquired  Sam,  wondering 
what  she  had  on  her  head,  and  why. 

"There's  no  tellin'.  An  hour,  or  two  hours,  or 
three." 

"Three  hours?"  echoed  Sam.  "Say,  a  feller  might 
kick  the  bucket  in  that  time." 

The  maid  smiled  an  undisturbed  smile. 

"Bucket?  What  bucket,  eh?  What  bucket  are  ye 
talkin'  aboot?"  she  enquired. 

"Say,  you're  smart,  ain't  yeh!  But  I  got  a  young 
feller  that's  broke  his  leg  and — " 

"His  leg?"  said  the  maid  indifferently.  "Well,  he's 
got  another?" 

"Yes,  you  bet  he  has,  but  one  leg  ain't  much  good 
without  the  other.  How  would  you  like  to  hop  around 
on  one  leg?  And  he's  hurt  inside,  too,  his  lights,  I  guess, 
and  other  things."  Sam's  anatomical  knowledge  was 
somewhat  vague.  "And  besides,  his  girl's  takin'  on 
awful." 

"Oh,  is  she  indeed?"  replied  the  maid,  this  item  appar- 
ently being  to  her  of  the  very  slightest  importance. 

"Say,  if  you  only  saw  her,"  said  Sam. 


THECHIVAREE  289 

"Pretty,  I  suppose,"  said  the  maid  with  a  touch  of 
scorn. 

"Pretty?  No,  ugly  as  a  hedge  fence.  But  say,  I  wish 
she  was  here  right  now.  She'd  bring  you  to  your — to 
time,  you  bet." 

"Would  she,  now?  I'd  sort  her."  And  the  little 
maid's  black  eyes  snapped. 

"Say,  what'll  I  do?    Jist  got  to  have  a  doctor." 

"Ye'll  no  git  him  till  to-morrow." 

"To-morrow?" 

"How  far  oot  are  ye?" 

"Twelve  miles." 

"Twelve  miles?  Ye'll  no  get  him  a  minute  afore 
to-morrow  noon." 

"Say,  that  young  feller'll  croak,  sure.  Away  from 
home  too.  No  friends.  All  his  folks  in  Scotland." 

"Scotland,  did  ye  say?"  Something  appeared  to  wake 
up  in  the  little  maid.  "Look  here,  why  don't  ye  get  a 
doctor  instead  o'  daunderin'  your  time  here?" 

"Git  a  doctor?"  echoed  Sam  in  vast  surprise.  "And 
ain't  I  tryin'  to  git  a  doctor?  Where'll  I  git  a 
doctor?" 

"Go  to  the  hospital,  ye  gawk,  and  ask  for  Dr.  Turn- 
bull,  and  tell  him  the  young  lad  is  a  stranger  and  that 
his  folk  are  in  Scotland.  Hoots,  ye  gomeril,  be  off  noo, 
an*  the  puir  lad  wantin'  ye.  Come,  I'll  pit  ye  on  yer 
way."  The  maid  by  her  speech  was  obviously  excited. 

Sam  glanced  at  the  clock  as  he  passed  out.  He  had 
been  away  an  hour  and  a  half. 

"Jumpin'  Jeremiah!  I've  got  to  hurry.  She'll  take 
my  head  off." 

"Of  course  ye  have,"  said  the  maid  sharply.  "Go 
down  two  streets  there,  then  take  the  first  turn  to  your 
left  and  go  straight  on  for  half  a  dozen  blocks  or  eo. 


290  COBPORAL   CAMERON 

Mind  ye  tell  the  doctor  the  lad's  frae  Scotland!"  she 
cried  to  Sam  as  he  drove  off. 

At  the  hospital  Sam  was  fortunate  enough  to  catch 
Dr.  Turnbull  in  the  hall  with  one  or  two  others,  just 
as  they  were  about  to  pass  into  the  consulting  room. 
Such  was  Sam's  desperate  state  of  mind  that  he  went 
straight  up  to  the  group. 

"I  want  Dr.  Turnbull,"  he  said. 

"There  he  is  before  you,"  replied  a  sharp-faced  young 
doctor,  pointing  to  a  benevolent  looking  old  gentleman. 

"Dr.  Turnbull,  there's  a  young  feller  hurt  dreadful 
out  our  way.  His  leg's  broke.  Guess  he's  hurt  inside 
too.  And  he's  a  stranger.  His  folks  are  all  in  Scotland. 
Guess  he's  dyin',  and  I've  got — I've  got  a  horse  and 
buggy  at  the  door.  I  can  git  you  out  and  back  in  a 
jiffy.  Say,  doctor,  I'm  all  ready  to  start." 

A  smile  passed  over  the  faces  of  the  group.  But 
Dr.  Turnbull  had  too  long  experience  with  desperate 
cases  and  with  desperate  men. 

"My  dear  Sir,"  he  replied,  "I  cannot  go  for  some 
hours." 

"Doctor,  I  want  you  now.  I  got  to  have  somebody 
right  now." 

"A  broken  leg?"  mused  the  doctor. 

"Yes,  and  hurt  inside." 

"How  did  it  happen?"  said  the  doctor. 

"Eh?  I  don't  know  exactly,"  replied  Sam,  taken 
somewhat  aback.  "Somethin'  fell  on  him.  But  he  needs 
you  bad." 

"I  can't  go,  my  man,  but  we'll  find  some  one.  What's 
his  name  did  you  say?" 

"His  name  is  Cameron,  and  he's  from  Scotland." 

"Cameron?"  said  the  sharp-faced  young  doctor. 
"What  does  he  look  like?" 


THE    CHIVAEEE  291 

"Look  like?"  said  Sam  in  a  perplexed  voice.  "Well, 
the  girls  all  think  he  looks  pretty  good.  He's  dark  com- 
plected and  he's  a  mighty  smart  young  feller.  Great  on 
jumpin'  and  runnin'.  Say,  he's  a  crackajack.  Why, 
at  the  Dominion  Day  picnic!  But  you  must  a'  heard 
about  him.  He's  the  chap,  you  know,  that  won  the 
hundred  yards.  Plays  the  pipes  and — " 

"Plays  the  pipes?"  cried  Dr.  Turnbull  and  the  young 
doctor  together. 

"And  his  name's  Cameron?"  continued  the  young 
doctor.  "I  wonder  now  if — " 

"I  say,  Martin,"  said  Dr.  Turnbull,  "I  think  you  had 
better  go.  The  case  may  be  urgent." 

"Cameron !"  cried  Martin  again.  "I  bet  my  hat  it's- — 
Here,  wait  till  I  get  my  coat.  I'll  be  with  you  in  a 
jerk.  Have  you  got  a  good  horse?" 

"He's  all  right,"  said  Sam.  "He'll  git  you  there  in 
an  hour." 

"An  hour?    How  far  is  it?" 

"Twelve  miles." 

"Great  heavens !    Come,  then,  get  a  move  on !" 

And  so  it  came  that  within  an  hour  Cameron,  opening 
his  eyes,  looked  up  into  the  face  of  his  friend. 

"Martin!  By  Jove!"  he  said,  and  closed  his  eyes 
again.  "Martin!"  he  said  again,  looking  upon  the 
familiar  face.  "Say,  old  boy,  is  this  a  dream?  I  seem 
to  be  having  lots  of  them." 

"It's  no  dream,  old  chap,  but  what  in  the  mischief  is 
the  matter?  What  does  all  this  fever  mean?  Let's 
look  at  you." 

A  brief  examination  was  enough  to  show  the  doctor 
that  a  broken  leg  was  the  least  of  Cameron's  trouble. 
A  hasty  investigation  of  the  resources  of  the  farm  house 
determined  the  doctor's  course. 


292 


"This  man  has  typhoid  fever,  a  bad  case  too,"  he  said 
to  Mandy.  "We  will  take  him  in  to  the  hospital." 

"The  hospital?"  cried  Mandy  fiercely.  "Will  you, 
then?" 

"He  will  be  a  lot  of  trouble  to  you,"  said  the  doctor. 

"Trouble?    Trouble?    What  are  you  talkin'  about?" 

"We're  awful  busy,  Mandy,"  interposed  the  mother, 
who  had  been  roused  from  her  bed. 

"Oh,  shucks,  mother!  Oh,  don't  send  him  away," 
she  pleaded.  "I  can  nurse  him,  just  as  easy."  She 
paused,  with  quivering  lips. 

"It  will  be  much  better  for  the  patient  to  be  in  the 
hospital.  He  will  get  constant  and  systematic  care. 
He  will  be  under  my  own  observation  every  hour.  I 
assure  you  it  will  be  better  for  him,"  said  the  doctor. 

"Better  for  him?"  echoed  Mandy  in  a  faint  voice. 
"Well,  let  him  go." 

In  less  than  an  hour's  time,  such  was  Dr.  Martin's 
energetic  promptness,  he  had  his  patient  comfortably 
placed  in  the  democrat  on  an  improvised  stretcher  and 
on  his  way  to  the  city  hospital. 

And  thus  it  came  about  that  the  problem  of  his  leave- 
taking,  which  had  vexed  Cameron  for  so  many  days,  was 
solved. 


IN   APPLE    TIME  293 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IN  APPLE  TIME 

"    A    NOTHER   basket  of  eggs,  Mr.   Cameron,   and 

/\  such  delicious  cream!  I  am  deeply  grieved 
to  see  you  so  nearly  well." 

"Grieved?" 

"For  you  will  be  leaving  us  of  course." 

"Thanks,  that  is  kind  of  you." 

"And  there  will  be  an  end  to  eggs  and  cream.  Ah! 
You  are  a  lucky  man."  And  the  trim,  neat,  bright- 
faced  nurse  shook  her  finger  at  him. 

"So  I  have  often  remarked  to  myself  these  six  weeks." 

"A  friend  is  a  great  discovery  and  by  these  same 
tokens  you  have  found  one." 

"Truly,  they  have  been  more  than  kind." 

"This  makes  the  twelfth  visit  in  six  weeks,"  said  the 
nurse.  "In  busy  harvest  and  threshing  time,  too.  Do 
you  know  what  that  means?" 

"To  a  certain  extent.    It  is  awfully  good  of  them." 

"But  she  is  shy,  shy — and  I  think  she  is  afraid  of  you. 
Her  chief  interest  appears  to  be  in  the  kitchen,  which 
she  has  never  failed  to  visit." 

The  blood  slowly  rose  in  Cameron's  face,  from  which 
the  summer  tan  had  all  been  bleached  by  his  six  weeks' 
fight  with  fever,  but  he  made  no  reply  to  the  brisk,  sharp- 
eyed,  sharp-minded  little  nurse. 

"And  I  know  she  is  dying  to  see  you,  and,  indeed," 
she  chuckled,  "it  might  do  you  good.  She  is  truly  won- 
derful." And  again  the  nurse  laughed.  "Don't  you 
think  you  could  bear  a  visit?"  The  smile  broadened 
upon  her  face. 


294  CORPORAL   CAMERON 

But  unaware  she  had  touched  a  sensitive  spot  in  her 
patient,  his  Highland  pride. 

"I  shall  be  more  than  pleased  to  have  an  opportunity 
to  thank  Miss  Haley  for  her  great  kindness,"  he  replied 
with  dignity. 

"All  right,"  replied  the  nurse.  "I  shall  bring  her  in. 
Now  don't  excite  yourself.  That  fever  is  not  so  far 
away.  And  only  a  few  minutes.  When  we  farmers  go 
calling — I  am  a  farmer,  remember,  and  know  them  well 
— -when  we  go  calling  we  take  our  knitting  and  spend 
the  afternoon." 

In  a  few  moments  she  returned  with  Mandy.  The 
difference  between  the  stout,  red-faced,  coarse-featured, 
obtrusively  healthy  country  girl,  heavy  of  foot  and  hand, 
slow  of  speech  and  awkward  of  manner,  and  the  neat, 
quick,  deft-fingered,  bright-faced  nurse  was  so  marked 
that  Cameron  could  hardly  control  the  wave  of  pity 
that  swept  through  his  heart,  for  he  could  see  that  even 
Mandy  herself  was  vividly  aware  of  the  contrast.  In 
vain  Cameron  tried  to  put  her  at  her  ease.  She  simply 
sat  and  stared,  now  at  the  walls,  now  at  the  floor,  refus- 
ing for  a  time  to  utter  more  than  monosyllables,  punctu- 
ated with  giggles. 

"I  want  to  thank  you  for  the  eggs  and  cream.  They 
are  fine,"  said  Cameron  heartily. 

"Oh,  pshaw,  that's  nothin'!  Lots  more  where  they 
come  from,"  replied  Mandy  with  a  giggle. 

"But  it's  a  long  way  for  you  to  drive;  and  in  the  busy 
time  too." 

"Oh,  we  had  to  come  in  anyway  for  things,"  replied 
Mandy,  making  light  of  her  service. 

"You  are  all  well?" 

"Oh,  pretty  middlin'.  Ma  ain't  right  smart.  She's 
too  much  to  do,  and  that's  the  truth." 


IN    APPLE    TIME  295 

"And  the  boys?"  Cameron  hesitated  to  be  more 
specific. 

"Oh,  there's  nothin'  eatin'  them.  I  don't  bother  with 
them  much."  Mandy  was  desperately  twisting  her 
white  cotton  gloves. 

At  this  point  the  nurse,  with  a  final  warning  to  the 
patient  not  to  talk  too  much  and  not  to  excite  himself, 
left  the  room.  In  a  moment  Mandy's  whole  manner 
changed. 

"Say !"  she  cried  in  a  hurried  voice ;  "Perkins  is  left." 

"Left?" 

"I  couldn't  jist  stand  him  after — after — that  night. 
Dad  wanted  him  to  stay,  but  I  couldn't  jist  stand  him, 
and  so  he  quit." 

"Quit?" 

"I  jist  hate  him  since — since — that  night.  When  I 
think  of  what  he  done  I  could  kill  him.  My,  I  was  glad 
to  see  him  lyin'  there  in  the  dust!"  Mandy's  words 
came  hot  and  fast.  "They  might  'a  killed  you."  For 
the  first  time  in  the  interview  she  looked  fairly  into 
Cameron's  eyes.  "My,  you  do  look  awful!"  she  said, 
with  difficulty  commanding  her  voice. 

"Nonsense,  Mandy!  You  see,  it  wasn't  my  leg  that 
hurt  me.  It  was  the  fever  that  pulled  me  down." 

"Oh,  I'll  never  forget  that  night !"  cried  Mandy,  strug- 
gling to  keep  her  lips  from  quivering. 

"Nor  will  I  ever  forget  what  you  did  for  me  that 
night,  Mandy.  Sam  told  me  all  about  it.  I  shall  always 
be  your  friend." 

For  a  moment  longer  she  held  him  with  her  eyes. 
Then  her  face  grew  suddenly  pale  and,  with  voice  and 
hands  trembling,  she  said : 

"I  must  go.    Good-by." 

He  took  her  great  red  hand  in  his  long  thin  fingers. 


296  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

"Good-by,  Mandy,  and  thank  you." 

"My!"  she  said,  looking  down  at  the  fingers  she  held 
in  her  hand.  "Your  hands  is  awful  thin.  Are  you  sure 
goin'  to  git  better?" 

"Of  course  I  am,  and  I  am  coming  out  to  see  you 
before  I  go." 

She  sat  down  quickly,  still  holding  his  hand,  as  if  he 
had  struck  her  a  heavy  blow. 

"Before  you  go?  Where?"  Her  voice  was  hardly 
above  a  whisper;  her  face  was  white,  her  lips  beyond 
her  control. 

"Out  West  to  seek  my  fortune."  His  voice  was  jaunty 
and  he  feigned  not  to  see  her  distress.  "I  shall  be  walk- 
ing in  a  couple  of  weeks  or  so,  eh,  nurse?" 

"A  couple  of  weeks?"  replied  the  nurse,  who  had  just 
entered.  "Yes,  if  you  are  good." 

Mandy  hastily  rose. 

"But  if  you  are  not,"  continued  the  nurse  severely, 
"it  may  be  months.  Stay,  Miss  Haley,  I  am  going  to 
bring  Mr.  Cameron  his  afternoon  tea  and  you  can  have 
some  with  him.  Indeed,  you  look  quite  done  up.  I  am 
sure  all  that  work  you  have  been  telling  me  about  is 
too  much  for  you." 

Her  kindly  tones  broke  the  last  shred  of  Mandy's  self- 
control.  She  sank  into  her  chair,  covered  her  face  with 
her  great  red  hands  and  burst  into  tempestuous  weep- 
ing. Cameron  sat  up  quickly. 

"What  in  the  name  of  goodness  is  wrong, 
Mandy?" 

"Lie  down  at  once,  Mr.  Cameron!"  said  the  nurse 
sternly.  "Hush,  hush,  Miss  Haley!  You  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  yourself!  Don't  you  know  that  you  are 
hurting  him?" 

She  could  have  chosen  no  better  word.    In  an  instant 


INAPPLETIME  297 


Mandy  was  on  her  feet,  mopping  off  her  face  and  chok- 
ing down  her  sobs. 

"Ain't  I  a  fool?"  she  cried  angrily.  "A  blamed  fool. 
Well,  I  won't  bother  yon  any  longer.  Guess  I'll  go  now. 
Good-by  all."  Without  another  look  at  Cameron  she 
was  gone. 

Cameron  lay  back  upon  his  pillows,  white  and  nerve- 
less. 

"Now  can  you  tell  me,"  he  panted,  "what's  up?" 

"Search  me!"  said  the  nurse  gaily,  "but  I  forbid  you 
to  speak  a  single  word  for  half  an  hour.  Here,  drink 
this  right  off !  Now,  not  a  word !  What  will  Dr.  Martin 
say?  Not  a  word!  Yes,  I  shall  see  her  safely  off  the 
place.  Quiet  now !"  She  kept  up  a  continuous  stream 
of  sprightly  chatter  to  cover  her  own  anxiety  and  to 
turn  the  current  of  her  patient's  thoughts.  By  the  time 
she  had  reached  the  entrance  hall,  however,  Mandy  had 
vanished. 

"Great  silly  goose!"  said  the  indignant  nurse.  "I'd 
see  myself  far  enough  before  I'd  give  myself  away  like 
that.  Little  fool!  He'll  have  a  temperature  sure  and 
I  will  catch  it.  Bah !  These  girls !  Next  time  she  sees 
him  it  will  not  be  here.  I  hope  the  doctor  will  just  give 
me  an  hour  to  get  him  quiet  again." 

But  in  this  hope  she  was  disappointed,  for  upon  her 
return  to  her  patient  she  found  Dr.  Martin  in  the  room. 
His  face  was  grave. 

"What's  up,  nurse?  What  is  the  meaning  of  this 
rotten  pulse?  What  has  he  been  having  to  eat?" 

"Well,  Dr.  Martin,  I  may  as  well  confess  my  sins," 
replied  the  nurse,  "for  there  is  no  use  trying  to  deceive 
you  anyway.  Mr.  Cameron  has  had  a  visitor  and  she 
has  excited  him." 

"Ah !"  said  the  doctor  in  a  relieved  tone.    "A  visitor ! 


298 


A  lady  visitor!  A  charming,  sympathetic,  interested, 
and  interesting  visitor." 

"Exactly !"  said  the  nurse  with  a  giggle. 

"It  was  Miss  Haley,  Martin,"  said  Cameron  gravely. 

The  doctor  looked  puzzled. 

"The  daughter  of  the  farmer  with  whom  I  was  work- 
ing," explained  Cameron. 

"Ah,  I  remember  her,"  said  the  doctor.  "And  a  deuce 
of  a  time  I  had  with  her,  too,  getting  you  away  from 
her,  if  I  remember  aright.  I  trust  there  is  nothing  seri- 
ously wrong  in  that  quarter?"  said  Martin  with  unusual 
gravity. 

"Oh,  quit  it,  Martin!"  said  Cameron  impatiently. 
"Don't  rag.  She's  an  awful  decent  sort.  Her  looks  are 
not  the  best  of  her." 

"Ah!  I  am  relieved  to  hear  that,"  said  the  doctor 
earnestly. 

"She  is  very  kind,  indeed,"  said  the  nurse.  "For  these 
six  weeks  she  has  fed  us  up  with  eggs  and  cream  so  that 
both  my  patient  and  myself  have  fared  sumptuously 
every  day.  Indeed,  if  it  should  continue  much  longer 
I  shall  have  to  ask  an  additional  allowance  for  a 
new  uniform.  I  have  promised  that  Mr.  Cameron 
shall  visit  the  farm  within  two  weeks  if  he  behaves 
well."  . 

"Exactly!"  replied  the  doctor.  "In  two  weeks  if  he 
is  good.  The  only  question  that  troubles  me  is — is  it 
quite  safe?  You  see  in  his  present  weak  condition  his 
susceptibility  is  decidedly  emphasised,  his  resisting 
power  is  low,  and  who  knows  what  might  happen, 
especially  if  she  should  insist?  I  shall  not  soon  forget 
the  look  in  her  eye  when  she  dared  me  to  lay  a  finger 
upon  his  person." 

"Oh,  cut  it  out,  Martin !"  said  Cameron.    "You  make 


IN    APPLE    TIME  299 

me  weary."  He  lay  back  on  his  pillow  and  closed  his 
eyes. 

The  nurse  threw  a  signal  to  the  doctor. 

"All  right,  old  man,  we  must  stop  this  chaff.  Buck 
up  and  in  two  weeks  we  will  let  you  go  where  you  like. 
I  have  something  in  mind  for  you,  but  we  won't  speak 
of  it  to-day." 

The  harvest  was  safely  stored.  The  yellow  stubble 
showed  the  fields  at  rest,  but  the  vivid  green  of  the  new 
fall  wheat  proclaimed  the  astounding  and  familiar  fact 
that  once  more  Nature  had  begun  her  ancient  perennial 
miracle.  For  in  those  fields  of  vivid  green  the  harvest 
of  the  coming  year  was  already  on  the  way.  On  these 
green  fields  the  snow^y  mantle  would  lie  soft  and  pro- 
tecting all  the  long  winter  through  and  when  the  spring 
suns  would  shine  again  the  fall  wheat  would  be  a  month 
or  more  on  the  way  towards  maturity. 

Somehow  the  country  looked  more  rested,  fresher, 
cleaner  to  Cameron  than  when  he  had  last  looked  upon 
it  in  late  August.  The  rain  had  washed  the  dust  from 
the  earth's  face  and  from  the  green  sward  that  bordered 
the  grey  ribbon  of  the  high  road  that  led  out  from  the 
city.  The  pastures  and  the  hay  meadows  and  the  turnip 
fields  were  all  in  their  freshest  green,  and  beyond  the 
fields  the  forest  stood  glorious  in  all  its  autumn  splen- 
dour, the  ash  trees  bright  yellow,  the  oaks  rich  brown, 
and  the  maples  all  the  colours  of  the  rainbow.  In  the 
orchard — ah,  the  wonder  and  the  joy  of  it!  even  the 
bare  and  bony  limbs  of  the  apple  trees  only  helped  to 
reveal  the  sumptuous  wealth  of  their  luscious  fruit. 
For  it  was  apple  time  in  the  land!  The  evanescent 
harvest  apples  were  long  since  gone,  the  snows  were  past 
their  best,  the  pippins  were  mellowing  under  the  sharp 
persuasion  of  the  nippy,  frosty  nights  and  the  brave 


300  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

gallantry  of  the  sunny  days.  In  this  ancient  warfare 
between  the  frosty  nights  and  the  gallant  sunny  days 
the  apples  ripened  rapidly;  and  well  that  they  should, 
for  the  warfare  could  not  be  for  long.  Already  in  the 
early  morning  hours  the  vanguard  of  winter's  fierce 
hosts  was  to  be  seen  flaunting  its  hoary  banners  even 
in  the  very  face  of  the  gallant  sun  so  bravely  making 
stand  against  it.  But  it  was  the  time  of  the  year  in 
which  men  felt  it  good  to  be  alive,  for  there  was  in  the 
air  that  tang  that  gives  speed  to  the  blood,  spring  to  the 
muscle,  edge  to  the  appetite,  courage  to  the  soul,  and 
zest  to  life — the  apple  time  of  the  year. 

It  was  in  apple  time  that  Cameron  came  back  to  the 
farm.  Under  compulsion  of  Mandy,  Haley  had  found 
it  necessary  to  drive  into  the  city  for  some  things  for 
the  "women  folk"  and,  being  in  the  city,  he  had  called 
for  Cameron  and  had  brought  him  out.  Under  com- 
pulsion, not  at  all  because  Haley  was  indifferent  to  the 
prospect  of  a  visit  from  his  former  hired  man,  not  alone 
because  the  fall  plowing  was  pressing  and  the  threshing 
gang  was  in  the  neighbourhood,  but  chiefly  because, 
through  the  channel  of  Dr.  Martin,  the  little  nurse,  and 
Mandy,  it  had  come  to  be  known  in  the  Haley  household 
and  in  the  country  side  that  the  hired  man  was  a  "great 
swell  in  the  old  country,"  and  Haley's  sturdy  independ- 
ence shrank  from  anything  that  savoured  of  "suckin* 
round  a  swell,"  as  he  graphically  put  it.  But  Mandy 
scouted  this  idea  and  waited  for  the  coming  of  the 
expected  guest  with  no  embarrassment  from  the  knowl- 
edge that  he  had  been  in  the  old  country  "a  great  swell." 

Hence  when,  through  a  crack  beside  the  window  blind, 
she  saw  him,  a  poor,  pale  shadow,  descending  wearily 
and  painfully  from  the  buggy,  the  great  mother  heart 
in  the  girl  welled  with  pity.  She  could  hardly  forbear 


IN    APPLE    TIME  301 

rushing  out  to  carry  him  bodily  in  her  strong  arms  to 
the  spare  room  and  lay  him  where  she  had  once  helped 
to  lay  him  the  night  of  the  tragedy  some  eight  weeks 
before.  But  in  this  matter  she  had  learned  her  lesson. 
She  remembered  the  little  nurse  and  her  indignant  scorn 
of  the  lack  of  self-control  she  had  shown  on  the  occasion 
of  her  last  visit  to  the  hospital.  So,  instead  of  rushing 
forth,  she  clutched  the  curtains  and  forced  herself  to 
stand  still,  whispering  to  herself  the  while,  "Oh,  he 
will  die  sure !  He  will  die  sure !"  But  when  she  looked 
upon  him  seated  comfortably  in  the  kitchen  with  a 
steaming  glass  of  ginger  and  whiskey,  her  mother's 
unfailing  remedy  for  "anything  wrong  with  the  insides," 
she  knew  he  would  not  die  and  her  joy  overflowed  in 
boisterous  welcome. 

For  five  days  they  all,  from  Haley  to  Tim,  gave  him 
of  their  very  best,  seeking  to  hold  him  among  them  for 
the  winter,  for  they  had  learned  that  his  mind  was  set 
upon  the  West,  till  Cameron  was  ashamed,  knowing 
that  he  must  go. 

The  last  afternoon  they  all  spent  in  the  orchard.  The 
Gravensteins,  in  which  species  of  apple  Haley  was  a 
specialist,  were  being  picked,  and  picked  with  the  great- 
est care,  Cameron  plucking  them  from  the  limbs  and 
dropping  them  into  a  basket  held  by  Mandy  below.  It 
was  one  of  those  sunny  days  when,  after  weeks  of  chilly 
absence,  summer  comes  again  and  makes  the  world 
glow  with  warmth  and  kindly  life  and  quickens  in  the 
heart  the  blood's  flow.  Cameron  was  full  of  talk  and 
fuller  of  laughter  than  his  wont;  indeed  he  was  vexed 
to  find  himself  struggling  to  maintain  unbroken  the 
flow  of  laughter  and  of  talk.  But  in  Mandy  there  was 
neither  speech  nor  laughter,  only  a  quiet  dignity  that 
disturbed  and  rebuked  him. 


302  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

The  last  tree  of  Gravensteins  was  picked  and  then 
there  came  the  time  of  parting.  Cameron,  with  a  man's 
selfish  desire  for  some  token  of  a  woman's  adoration, 
even  although  he  well  knew  that  he  could  make  no 
return,  lingered  in  the  farewell,  hoping  for  some  sign 
in  the  plain  quiet  face  and  the  wonderful  eyes  with  their 
new  mystery  that  when  he  had  gone  he  would  not  be 
forgotten;  but  though  the  lips  quivered  pitifully  and 
the  heavy  face  grew  drawn  and  old  and  the  eyes  glowed 
with  a  deeper  fire,  the  words,  when  they  came,  came 
quietly  and  the  eyes  looked  steadily  upon  him,  except 
that  for  one  brief  moment  a  fire  leaped  in  them  and 
quickly  died  down.  But  when  the  buggy,  with  Tim 
driving,  had  passed  down  the  lane,  behind  the  curtain 
of  the  spare  room  the  girl  stood  looking  through  the 
crack  beside  the  blind,  with  both  hands  pressed  upon 
her  bosom,  her  breath  coming  in  sobs,  her  blue  lips  mur- 
muring brokenly,  "Good-by,  good-by!  Oh,  why  did 
you  come  at  all?  But,  oh,  I'm  glad  you  came!  God 
help  me,  I'm  glad  you  came!"  Then,  when  the  buggy 
had  turned  down  the  side  lane  and  out  of  sight,  she 
knelt  beside  the  bed  and  kissed,  again  and  again,  with 
tender,  reverent  kisses,  the  pillow  where  his  head  had 
lain. 


BOOK  THREE 


303 


THE    CAMP    BY    THE    GAP  305 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  CAMP  BY  THE  GAP 

ON  the  foot-hills'  side  of  The  Gap,  on  a  grassy 
plain  bounded  on  three  sides  by  the  Bow  River 
and  on  the  other  by  ragged  hills  and  broken 
timber,  stood  Surveyor  Mclvor*s  camp,  three  white  tents, 
seeming  wondrously  insignificant  in  the  shadow  of  the 
mighty  Rockies,  but  cosy  enough.  For  on  this  April  day 
the  sun  was  riding  high  in  the  heavens  in  all  his  new 
spring  glory,  where  a  few  days  ago  and  for  many  months 
past  the  storm  king  with  relentless  rigour  had  raged, 
searching  with  pitiless  fury  these  rock-ribbed  hills  and 
threatening  these  white  tents  and  their  dwellers  with 
dire  destruction.  But  threaten  though  he  might  and  pin 
them  though  he  did  beneath  their  frail  canvas  covers, 
he  could  not  make  that  gang  beat  retreat.  Mclvor  was 
of  the  kind  that  takes  no  back  trail.  In  the  late  fall 
he  had  set  out  to  run  the  line  through  The  Gap,  and 
after  many  wanderings  through  the  coulees  of  the  foot- 
hills and  after  many  vain  attempts,  he  had  finally  made 
choice  of  his  route  and  had  brought  his  men,  burnt 
black  with  chinook  and  frost  and  sun,  hither  to  The 
Gap's  mouth.  Every  chain  length  in  those  weary 
marches  was  a  battle  ground,  every  pillar,  every  picket 
stood  a  monument  of  victory.  Mclvor's  advance 
through  the  foot-hill  country  to  The  Gap  had  been  one 
unbroken  succession  of  fierce  fights  with  Nature's  most 
terrifying  forces,  a  triumphal  march  of  heroes  who  bore 
on  their  faces  and  on  their  bodies  the  scars  and  laurels 
of  the  campaign.  But  to  Mclvor  and  his  gang  it  was 
all  in  the  day's  work. 

To  Cameron  the  winter  had  brought  an  experience  of 


306  CORPORAL   CAMERON 

a  life  hitherto  undreamed  of,  but  never  even  in  its 
wildest  blizzards  did  he  cherish  anything  but  gratitude 
to  his  friend  Martin,  who  had  got  him  attached  to 
Mclvor*s  survey  party.  For  Mclvor  was  a  man  to  "tie 
to,"  as  Martin  said,  and  to  Cameron  he  was  a  continual 
cause  of  wonder  and  admiration.  He  was  a  big  man, 
with  a  big  man's  quiet  strength,  patient,  fearless  of  men 
and  things,  reverent  toward  Nature's  forces,  which  it 
was  his  life's  business  to  know,  to  measure,  to  control, 
and,  if  need  be,  to  fight,  careful  of  his  men,  whether 
amid  the  perils  of  the  march,  or  amid  the  more  deadly 
perils  of  trading  post  and  railway  construction  camp. 
Cameron  never  could  forget  the  thrill  of  admiration 
that  swept  his  soul  one  night  in  Taylor's  billiard  and 
gambling  "joint"  down  at  the  post  where  the  Elbow 
joins  the  Bow,  when  Mclvor,  without  bluff  or  bluster, 
took  his  chainman  and  his  French-Canadian  cook,  the 
latter  frothing  mad  with  "Jamaica  Ginger"  and  "Pain- 
killer," out  of  the  hands  of  the  gang  of  bad  men  from 
across  the  line  who  had  marked  them  as  lambs  for  the 
fleecing.  It  was  not  the  courage  of  his  big  chief  so  much 
that  had  filled  Cameron  with  amazed  respect  and  admi- 
ration as  the  calm  indifference  to  every  consideration 
but  that  of  getting  his  men  out  of  harm's  way,  and  the 
cool-headed  directness  of  the  method  he  employed. 

"Come  along,  boys,"  Mclvor  had  said,  gripping  them 
by  their  coat  collars.  "I  don't  pay  you  good  money  for 
this  sort  of  thing."  And  so  saying  he  had  lifted  them 
clear  from  their  eeats,  upsetting  the  table,  ignoring 
utterly  the  roaring  oaths  of  the  discomfited  gamblers. 
What  would  have  been  the  result  none  could  say,  for 
one  of  the  gamblers  had  whipped  out  his  gun  and  with 
sulphurous  oaths  was  conducting  a  vigourous  demon- 
stration behind  the  unconscious  back  of  Mclvor,  when 


THE    CAMP    BY    THE    GAP  307 

there  strolled  into  the  room  and  through  the  crowd  of 
men  scattering  to  cover,  a  tall  slim  youngster  in  the 
red  jacket  and  pill-box  cap  of  that  world-famous  body 
of  military  guardians  of  law  and  order,  the  North  West 
Mounted  Police.  Not  while  he  lived  would  Cameron 
forget  the  scene  that  followed.  With  an  air  of  lazy 
nonchalance  the  youngster  strode  quietly  up  to  the 
desperado  flourishing  his  gun  and  asked  in  a  tone  that 
indicated  curiosity  more  than  anything  else,  "What  are 
you  doing  with  that  thing?" 

"I'll  show  yeh!"  roared  the  man  in  his  face,  con- 
tinuing to  pour  forth  a  torrent  of  oaths. 

"Put  it  down  there !"  said  the  youngster  in  a  smooth 
and  silky  voice,  pointing  to  a  table  near  by.  "You  don't 
need  that  in  this  country." 

The  man  paused  in  his  demonstration  and  for  a  mo- 
ment or  two  stood  in  amazed  silence.  The  audacity 
of  the  youngster  appeared  to  paralyse  his  powers  of 
speech  and  action. 

"Put  it  down  there,  my  man.  Do  you  hear?"  The 
voice  was  still  smooth,  but  through  the  silky  tones  there 
ran  a  fibre  of  steel.  Still  the  desperado  stood  gazing  at 
him.  "Quick,  do  you  hear?"  There  was  a  sudden  sharp 
ring  of  imperious,  of  overwhelming  authority,  and,  to 
the  amazement  of  the  crowd  of  men  who  stood  breath- 
less and  silent  about,  there  followed  one  of  those  phe- 
nomena which  experts  in  psychology  delight  to  explain, 
but  which  no  man  can  understand.  Without  a  word 
the  gambler  slowly  laid  upon  the  table  his  gun,  upon 
whose  handle  were  many  notches,  the  tally  of  human 
lives  it  had  accounted  for  in  the  hands  of  this  same 
desperado. 

"What  is  this  for?"  continued  the  young  man,  gently 
touching  the  belt  of  cartridges.  "Take  it  off !" 


308  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

The  belt  fouDd  its  place  beside  the  gun. 

"Now,  listen!"  gravely  continued  the  youngster.  "I 
give  you  twenty-four  hours  to  leave  this  post,  and  if 
after  twenty-four  hours  you  are  found  here  it  will  be 
bad  for  you.  Get  out!" 

The  man,  still  silent,  slunk  out  from  the  room.  Irre- 
sistible authority  seemed  to  go  with  the  word  that 
sent  him  forth,  and  rightly  so,  for  behind  that  word  lay 
the  full  weight  of  Great  Britain's  mighty  empire.  It 
was  Cameron's  first  experience  of  the  North  West 
Mounted  Police,  that  famous  corps  of  frontier  riders 
who  for  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century  have  ridden 
the  marches  of  Great  Britain's  territories  in  the  far 
northwest  land,  keeping  intact  the  Pax  Britannica  amid 
the  wild  turmoil  of  pioneer  days.  To  the  North  West 
Mounted  Police  and  to  the  pioneer  missionary  it  is  due 
that  Canada  has  never  had  within  her  borders  what  is 
known  as  a  "wild  and  wicked  West."  It  was  doubtless 
owing  to  the  presence  of  that  slim  youngster  in  his 
scarlet  jacket  and  pill-box  cap  that  Mclvor  got  his  men 
safely  away  without  a  hole  in  his  back  and  that  his  gang 
were  quietly  finishing  their  morning  meal  this  shining 
April  day,  in  their  camp  by  the  Bow  River  in  the  shadow 
of  the  big  white  peaks  that  guard  The  Gap. 

Breakfast  over,  Mclvor  heaved  his  great  form  to  the 
perpendicular. 

"How  is  the  foot,  Cameron?"  he  asked,  filling  his  pipe 
preparatory  to  the  march. 

"Just  about  fit,"  replied  Cameron. 

"Better  take  another  day,"  replied  the  chief.  "You 
can  get  up  wood  and  get  supper  ready.  Benoit  will  be 
glad  enough  to  go  out  and  take  your  place  for  another 
day  on  the  line." 

"Sure  ting,"  cried  Benoit,  the  jolly  French-Canadian 


THE    CAMP    BY   THE    GAP  309 

cook.  "Good  for  my  healt.  He's  tak  off  my  front  porsch 
here."  And  the  cook  patted  affectionately  the  little 
round  paunch  that  marred  the  symmetry  of  his  figure. 

"You  ought  to  get  Cameron  to  swap  jobs  with  you, 
Benny,"  said  one  of  the  axemen.  "You  would  be  a 
dandy  in  about  another  month." 

Benoit  let  his  eye  run  critically  over  the  line  of  his 
person. 

"Bon!  Dat's  true,  for  sure.  In  tree,  four  mont  I 
mak  de  beeg  spark  on  de  girl,  me." 

"You  bet,  Benny!"  cried  the  axeman.  "You'll  break 
'em  all  up." 

"Sure  ting!"  cried  Benny,  catching  up  a  coal  for  his 
pipe.  "By  by,  Cameron.  Au  revoir.  I  go  for  tak  some 
more  slice  from  my  porsch." 

"Good-bye,  Benny,"  cried  Cameron.  "It  is  your  last 
chance,  for  to-morrow  I  give  you  back  your  job.  I  don't 
want  any  'front  porsch'  on  me." 

"Ho!  ho!"  laughed  Benny  scornfully,  as  he  turned 
to  hurry  after  his  chief.  "Dat's  not  moch  front  porsch 
on  you.  Dat's  one  rail  fence — clabbord." 

And  indeed  Benoit  was  right,  for  there  was  no 
"porsch"  or  sign  of  one  on  Cameron's  lean  and  muscular 
frame.  The  daily  battle  with  winter's  fierce  frosts  and 
blizzards,  the  strenuous  toil,  the  hard  food  had  done 
their  work  on  him.  Strong,  firm-knit,  clean  and  sound, 
hard  and  fit,  he  had  come  through  his  first  Canadian 
winter.  No  man  in  the  camp,  not  even  the  chief  himself, 
could  "bush"  him  in  a  day's  work.  He  had  gained  enor- 
mously in  strength  lately,  and  though  the  lines  of  his 
frame  still  ran  to  angles,  he  had  gained  in  weight  as  well. 
Never  in  the  days  of  his  finest  training  was  he  as  fit  to 
get  the  best  out  of  himself  as  now.  An  injured  foot  had 
held  him  in  camp  for  a  week,  but  the  injury  was  now 


310  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

almost  completely  repaired  and  the  week's  change  of 
work  only  served  to  replenish  his  store  of  snap  and  vim. 

An  hour  or  two  sufficed  to  put  the  camp  in  the  perfect 
order  that  he  knew  Benoit  would  consider  ideal  and  to 
get  all  in  readiness  for  the  evening  meal  when  the  gang 
should  return.  He  had  the  day  before  him  and  what 
a  day  it  was !  Cameron  lay  upon  a  buffalo  skin  in  front 
of  the  cook-tent,  content  with  all  the  world  and  for  the 
moment  with  himself.  Six  months  ago  he  had  engaged 
as  an  axeman  in  the  surveyors'  gang  at  $30  per  month 
and  "found,"  being  regarded  more  in  the  light  of  a 
supernumerary  and  more  or  less  of  a  burden  than  any- 
thing else.  Now  he  was  drawing  double  the  wage  as  rod- 
man,  and,  of  all  the  gang,  stood  second  to  none  in  Mc- 
Ivor's  regard.  In  this  new  venture  he  had  come  nearer 
to  making  good  than  ever  before  in  his  life.  So  in  full 
content  with  himself  he  allowed  his  eyes  to  roam  over 
the  brown  grassy  plain  that  sloped  to  the  Bow  in  front, 
and  over  the  Bow  to  the  successive  lines  of  hills,  rounded 
except  where  the  black  rocks  broke  jagged  through  the 
turf,  and  upward  over  the  rounded  hills  to  the  grey 
sides  of  the  mighty  masses  of  the  mountains,  and  still 
upward  to  where  the  white  peaks  lost  themselves  in  the 
shining  blue  of  the  sky.  Behind  him  a  coulee  ran  back 
between  hills  to  a  line  of  timber,  and  beyond  the  timber 
more  hills  and  more  valleys,  and  ever  growing  higher 
and  deeper  till  they  ran  into  the  bases  of  the  great 
Rockies. 

As  Cameron  lay  thus  luxuriating  upon  his  buffalo 
skin  and  lazily  watching  the  hills  across  the  river 
through  the  curling  wreaths  that  gracefully  and  fra- 
grantly rose  from  his  briar  root,  there  broke  from  the 
line  of  timber  two  jumping  deer,  buck  and  doe,  the  latter 
slow-footed  because  heavy  with  young.  Behind  them  in 


THE    CAMP    B-Y    THE    GAP  311 

hot  pursuit  came  a  pack  of  yelping  coyotes.  The  doe 
was  evidently  hard  pressed.  The  buck  was  running 
easily,  but  gallantly  refusing  to  abandon  his  mate  to  her 
cowardly  foes.  Straight  for  the  icy  river  they  made, 
plunged  in,  and,  making  the  crossing,  were  safe  from 
their  pursuing  enemy.  Cameron,  intent  upon  fresh  meat, 
ran  for  Mclvor's  Winchester,  but  ere  he  could  buckle 
round  him  a  cartridge  belt  and  throw  on  his  hunting 
jacket  the  deer  had  disappeared  over  the  rounded  top 
of  the  nearest  hill.  Up  the  coulee  he  ran  to  the  timber 
and  there  waited,  but  there  was  no  sign  of  his  game. 
Cautiously  he  made  his  way  through  the  timber  and 
dropped  into  the  next  valley  circling  westward  towards 
the  mountains.  The  deer,  however,  had  completely  van- 
ished. Turning  back  upon  his  tracks,  he  once  more 
pierced  the  thin  line  of  timber,  when  just  across  the 
coulee,  some  three  hundred  yards  away,  on  the  sky  line, 
head  up  and  sniffing  the  wind,  stood  the  buck  in  clear 
view.  Taking  hurried  aim  Cameron  fired.  The  buck 
dropped  as  if  dead.  Marking  the  spot,  Cameron  hurried 
forward,  but  to  his  surprise  found  only  a  trail  of  blood. 

"He's  badly  hit  though,"  he  said  to  himself.  "I  must 
get  the  poor  chap  now  at  all  costs."  Swiftly  he  took  up 
the  trail,  but  though  the  blood  stains  continued  clear 
and  fresh  he  could  get  no  sight  of  the  wounded  animal. 
Hour  after  hour  he  kept  up  the  chase,  forgetful  of  every- 
thing but  his  determination  to  bring  back  his  game  to 
camp.  From  the  freshness  of  the  stains  he  knew  that 
the  buck  could  not  be  far  ahead  and  from  the  footprints 
it  was  clear  that  the  animal  was  going  on  three  legs. 

"The  beggar  is  hearing  me  and  so  keeps  out  of  sight/' 
said  Cameron  as  he  paused  to  listen.  He  resolved  to 
proceed  more  slowly  and  with  greater  caution,  but 
though  he  followed  this  plan  for  another  half  hour  it 


312  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

brought  him  no  better  success.  The  day  was  fast  pass- 
ing and  he  could  not  much  longer  continue  his  pursuit. 
He  became  conscious  of  pain  in  his  injured  foot.  He 
sat  down  to  rest  and  to  review  his  situation.  For  the 
first  time  he  observed  that  the  bright  sky  of  the  morning 
had  become  overcast  with  a  film  of  hazy  cloud  and  that 
the  temperature  was  rapidly  falling.  Prudence  sug- 
gested that  he  should  at  once  make  his  way  back  to 
camp,  but  with  the  instinct  of  the  true  hunter  he  was 
loath  to  abandon  the  poor  wounded  beast  to  its  unhappy 
fate.  He  resolved  to  make  one  further  attempt.  Re- 
freshed by  his  brief  rest,  but  with  an  increasing  sense 
of  pain  in  his  foot,  he  climbed  the  slight  rising  ground 
before  him,  cautiously  pushed  his  way  through  some 
scrub,  and  there,  within  easy  shot,  stood  the  buck,  with 
drooping  head  and  evidently  with  strength  nearly  done. 
Cameron  took  careful  aim — there  must  be  no  mistake 
this  time — and  fired.  The  buck  leaped  high  in  the  air, 
dropped  and  lay  still.  The  first  shot  had  broken  his 
leg,  the  second  had  pierced  his  heart. 

Cameron  hurried  forward  and  proceeded  to  skin  the 
animal.  But  soon  he  abandoned  this  operation.  "We'll 
come  and  get  him  to-morrow,"  he  muttered,  "and  he  is 
better  with  his  skin  on.  Meantime  we'll  have  a  steak, 
however."  He  hung  a  bit  of  skin  from  a  pole  to  keep 
off  the  wolves  and  selected  a  choice  cut  for  the  supper. 
He  worked  hurriedly,  for  the  sudden  drop  in  the  tem- 
perature was  ominous  of  a  serious  disturbance  in  the 
weather,  but  before  he  had  finished  he  was  startled  to 
observe  a  large  snowflake  lazily  flutter  to  the  ground 
beside  him.  He  glanced  towards  the  sky  and  found  that 
the  filmy  clouds  were  rapidly  assuming  definite  shape 
and  that  the  sun  had  almost  disappeared.  Hurriedly 
he  took  his  bearings  and,  calculating  as  best  he  could 


THE    CAMP    BY    THE    GAP  313 

the  direction  of  the  camp,  set  off,  well  satisfied  with  the 
outcome  of  his  expedition  and  filled  with  the  pleasing 
anticipation  of  a  venison  supper  for  himself  and  the 
rest  of  the  gang. 

The  country  was  for  the  most  part  open  except  for 
patches  of  timber  here  and  there,  and  with  a  clear  sky 
the  difficulty  of  maintaining  direction  would  have  been 
but  slight.  With  the  sky  overcast,  however,  this  diffi- 
culty was  sensibly  increased.  He  had  not  kept  an 
accurate  reckoning  of  his  course,  but  from  the  character 
of  the  ground  he  knew  that  he  must  be  a  considerable 
distance  westward  of  the  line  of  the  camp.  His  training 
during  the  winter  in  holding  a  line  of  march  helped  him 
now  to  maintain  his  course  steadily  in  one  direction. 
The  temperature  was  still  dropping  rapidly.  Over  the 
woods  hung  a  dead  stillness,  except  for  the  lonely  call 
of  an  occasional  crow  or  for  the  scream  of  the  impudent 
whiskey-jack.  But  soon  even  these  became  silent.  As 
he  surmounted  each  hill  top  Cameron  took  his  bearings 
afresh  and  anxiously  scanned  the  sky  for  weather  signs. 
In  spite  of  himself  there  crept  over  him  a  sense  of  fore- 
boding, which  he  impatiently  tried  to  shake  off. 

"I  can't  be  so  very  far  from  camp  now,"  he  said  to 
himself,  looking  at  his  watch.  "It  is  just  four.  There 
are  three  good  hours  till  dark." 

A  little  to  the  west  of  his  line  of  march  stood  a  high 
hill  which  appeared  to  dominate  the  surrounding  coun- 
try and  on  its  top  a  lofty  pine.  "I'll  just  shin  up  that 
tree,"  said  he.  "I  ought  to  get  a  sight  of  the  Bow  from 
the  top."  In  a  few  minutes  he  had  reached  the  top  of 
the  hill,  but  even  in  those  minutes  the  atmosphere  had 
thickened.  "Jove,  it's  getting  dark!"  he  exclaimed. 
"It  can't  be  near  sundown  yet.  Did  I  make  a  mistake 
in  the  time?"  He  looked  at  his  watch  again.  It  showed 


314  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

a  quarter  after  fonr.  "I  must  get  a  look  at  this  coun- 
try." Hurriedly  he  threw  off  his  jacket  and  proceeded 
to  climb  the  big  pine,  which,  fortunately,  was  limbed  to 
the  ground.  From  the  lofty  top  his  eye  could  sweep  the 
country  for  many  miles  around.  Over  the  great  peaks 
of  the  Rockies  to  the  west  dark  masses  of  black  cloud 
shot  with  purple  and  liver-coloured  bars  hung  like  a 
pall.  To  the  north  a  line  of  clear  light  was  still  visible, 
but  over  the  foot-hills  towards  east  and  south  there  lay 
almost  invisible  a  shimmering  haze,  soft  and  translucent, 
and  above  the  haze  a  heavy  curtain,  while  over  the  im- 
mediate landscape  there  shone  a  strange  weird  light, 
through  which  there  floated  down  to  earth  large  white 
snowflakes.  Not  a  breath  of  air  moved  across  the  face 
of  the  hills,  but  still  as  the  dead  they  lay  in  solemn 
oppressive  silence.  Far  to  the  north  Cameron  caught 
the  gleam  of  water. 

"That  must  be  the  Bow/'  he  said  to  himself.  "I  am 
miles  too  far  toward  the  mountains.  I  don't  like  the 
look  of  that  haze  and  that  cloud  bank.  There  is  a  bliz- 
zard on  the  move  if  this  winter's  experience  teaches  me 
anything." 

He  had  once  been  caught  in  a  blizzard,  but  on  that 
occasion  he  was  with  Mclvor.  He  was  conscious  now 
of  a  little  clutch  at  his  heart  as  he  remembered  that 
desperate  struggle  for  breath,  for  life  it  seemed  to  him, 
behind  Mclvor's  broad  back.  The  country  was  full  of 
stories  of  men  being  overwhelmed  by  the  choking,  drift- 
ing whirl  of  snow.  He  knew  how  swift  at  times  the 
on-fall  of  the  blizzard  could  be,  how  long  the  storm 
could  last,  how  appalling  the  cold  could  become.  What 
should  he  do?  He  must  think  and  act  swiftly.  That 
gleaming  water  near  which  his  camp  lay  was,  at  the  very 
best  going,  two  hours  distant.  The  blizzard  might  strike 


THE    CAMP    BY    THE    GAP  315 

at  any  moment  and  once  it  struck  all  hope  of  advance 
would  be  cut  off.  He  resolved  to  seek  the  best  cover 
available  and  wait  till  the  storm  should  pass.  He  had 
his  deer  meat  with  him  and  matches.  Could  he  but 
make  shelter  he  doubted  not  but  he  could  weather  the 
storm.  Swiftly  he  swept  the  landscape  for  a  spot  to 
camp.  Half  a  mile  away  he  spied  a  little  coulee  where 
several  valleys  appeared  to  lose  themselves  in  thick 
underbrush.  He  resolved  to  make  for  that  spot.  Hur- 
riedly he  slipped  down  the  tree,  donned  belt  and  jacket 
and,  picking  up  gun  and  venison,  set  off  at  a  run  for 
the  spot  he  had  selected.  A  puff  of  wind  touched  his 
cheek.  He  glanced  up  and  about  him.  The  flakes  of 
snow  were  no  longer  floating  gently  down,  but  were 
slanting  in  long  straight  lines  across  the  landscape.  His 
heart  took  a  quicker  beat. 

"It  is  coming,  sure  enough,"  he  said  to  himself  be- 
tween his  teeth,  "and  a  bad  one  too  at  that."  He  quick- 
ened his  pace  to  racing  speed.  Down  the  hill,  across 
the  valley  and  up  the  next  slope  he  ran  without  pause, 
but  as  he  reached  the  top  of  the  slope  a  sound  arrested 
him,  a  deep,  muffled,  hissing  roar,  and  mingled  with  it 
the  beating  of  a  thousand  wings.  Beyond  the  top  of 
the  next  hill  there  hung  from  sky  to  earth  the  curtain, 
thick,  black,  portentous,  and  swiftly  making  approach, 
devouring  the  landscape  as  it  came  and  filling  his  ears 
with  its  muffled,  hissing  roar. 

In  the  coulee  beyond  that  hill  was  the  spot  he  had 
marked  for  his  shelter.  It  was  still  some  three  hundred 
yards  away.  Could  he  beat  that  roaring,  hissing,  por- 
tentous cloud  mass?  It  was  extremely  doubtful.  Down 
the  hill  he  ran,  slipping,  skating,  pitching,  till  he  struck 
the  bottom,  then  up  the  opposite  slope  he  struggled, 
straining  every  nerve  and  muscle.  He  glanced  upward 


316  COKPOEAL   CAMERON 

towards  the  top  of  the  hill.  Merciful  heaven !  There  it 
was,  that  portentous  cloud  mass,  roaring  down  upon 
him.  Could  he  ever  make  that  top?  He  ran  a  few  steps 
further,  then,  dropping  his  gun,  he  clutched  a  small 
poplar  and  hung  fast.  A  driving,  blinding,  choking, 
whirling  mass  of  whiteness  hurled  itself  at  him,  buffet- 
ing him  heavily,  filling  eyes,  ears,  nose,  and  mouth, 
clutching  at  his  arms  and  legs  and  body  with  a  thousand 
impalpable  insistent  claws.  For  a  moment  or  two  he 
lost  all  sense  of  direction,  all  thought  of  advance.  One 
instinct  only  he  obeyed — to  hold  on  for  dear  life  to  the 
swaying  quivering  poplar.  The  icy  cold  struck  him  to 
the  heart,  his  bare  fingers  were  fast  freeezing.  A  few 
moments  he  hung,  hoping  for  a  lull  in  the  fury  of  the 
blizzard,  but  lull  there  was  none,  only  that  choking, 
blinding,  terrifying  Thing  that  clutched  and  tore  at  him. 
His  heart  sank  within  him.  This,  then,  was  to  be  the 
end  of  him.  A  vision  of  his  own  body,  stark  and  stiff, 
lying  under  a  mound  of  drifting  snow,  swiftly  passed 
before  his  mind.  He  threw  it  off  wrathfully.  "Not  yet ! 
Not  just  yet !"  he  shouted  in  defiance  into  the  face  of  the 
howling  storm. 

Through  the  tumult  and  confusion  of  his  thoughts 
one  idea  dominated — he  must  make  the  hill-top.  Slid- 
ing his  hands  down  the  trunk  of  the  little  poplar  he  once 
more  found  his  rifle  and,  laying  it  in  the  hollow  of  his 
arm,  he  hugged  it  close  to  his  side,  shoved  his  freezing 
hands  into  his  pockets  and,  leaning  hard  against  the 
driving  blizzard,  set  off  towards  the  hill-top.  A  few 
paces  he  made,  then  turning  around  leaned  back  upon 
the  solid  massive  force  of  the  wind,  till  he  could  get 
breath.  Again  a  few  steps  upward  and  again  a  rest 
against  the  wind.  His  courage  began  to  come  back. 

"Aha!"  he  shouted  at  the  storm.     "Not  yet!     Not 


THE    CAMP    BY    THE    GAP  317 

yet !"  Gradually,  and  with  growing  courage,  he  fought 
his  way  to  the  top.  At  length  he  stood  upon  the  storm- 
swept  summit.  "I  say,"  he  cried,  heartening  himself 
with  his  speech,  "this  is  so  much  to  the  good  anyway. 
Now  for  the  coulee."  But  exactly  where  did  it  lie?  Ab- 
solutely nothing  could  he  see  before  him  but  this  blind- 
ing, choking  mass  of  whirling  snow.  He  tried  to  recall 
the  direction  in  relation  to  the  hill  as  he  had  taken  it 
from  the  top  of  the  tree.  How  long  ago  that  seemed! 
Was  it  minutes  or  hours?  Downward  and  towards  the 
left  lay  the  coulee.  He  could  hardly  fail  to  strike  it. 
Plunging  headlong  into  the  blizzard,  he  fought  his  way 
once  more,  step  by  step. 

"It  was  jolly  well  like  a  scrimmage,"  he  said  grimly 
to  the  storm  which  began  in  his  imagination  to  assume 
a  kind  of  monstrous  and  savage  personality.  It  heart- 
ened him  much  to  remember  his  sensations  in  many  a 
desperate  struggle  against  the  straining  steaming  mass 
of  muscle  and  bone  in  the  old  fierce  football  fights.  He 
recalled,  too,  a  word  of  his  old  captain,  "Never  say  die ! 
The  next  minute  may  be  better." 

"Never  say  die!"  he  cried  aloud  in  the  face  of  his 
enemy.  "But  I  wish  to  heaven  I  could  get  up  some  of 
that  heat  just  now.  This  cold  is  going  to  be  the  death 
of  me." 

As  he  spoke  he  bumped  into  a  small  bushy  spruce 
tree.  "Hello !  Here  you  are,  eh !"  he  cried,  determined 
to  be  cheerful.  "Glad  to  meet  you.  Hope  there  are 
lots  more  of  you."  His  hope  was  realised !  A  few  more 
steps  and  he  found  himself  in  the  heart  of  a  spruce 
thicket. 

"Thank  God!"  he  exclaimed.  Then  again — "Yes, 
thank  God  it  is !"  It  steadied  his  heart  not  a  little  to 
remember  the  picture  in  his  mother's  Bible  that  had  so 


318  CORPORAL   CAMERON 

often  stirred  his  youthful  imagination  of  One  standing 
in  the  fishing  boat  and  bidding  the  storm  be  still.  In 
the  spruce  thicket  he  stood  some  moments  to  regain  his 
breath  and  strength. 

"Now  what  next?"  he  asked  himself.  Although  the 
thicket  broke  the  force  of  the  wind,  something  must  be 
done,  and  quickly.  Night  was  coming  on  and  that  meant 
an  even  intenser  cold.  His  hands  were  numb.  His  hunt- 
ing jacket  was  but  slight  protection  against  the  driving 
wind  and  the  bitter  cold.  If  he  could  only  light  a  fire ! 
A  difficult  business  in  this  tumultuous  whirlwind  and 
snow.  He  had  learned  something  of  this  art,  however, 
from  his  winter's  experience.  He  began  breaking  from 
the  spruce  trees  the  dead  dry  twigs.  Oh  for  some  birch 
bark !  Like  a  forgotten  dream  it  came  to  him  that  from 
the  tree  top  he  had  seen  above  the  spruce  thicket  the 
tops  of  some  white  birch  trees  purpling  under  the  touch 
of  spring. 

"Let's  see !  Those  birches  must  be  further  to  my  left," 
he  said,  recalling  their  position.  Painfully  he  forced 
his  way  through  the  scrubby  underbrush.  His  foot 
struck  hard  against  an  obstruction  that  nearly  threw 
him  to  the  ground.  It  was  a  jutting  rock.  Peering 
through  the  white  mass  before  his  eyes,  he  could  make 
out  a  great  black,  looming  mass.  Eagerly  he  pushed 
forward.  It  was  a  towering  slab  of  rock.  Following  it 
round  on  the  lee  side,  he  suddenly  halted  with  a  shout 
of  grateful  triumph.  A  great  section  had  fallen  out  of 
the  rock,  forming  a  little  cave,  storm-proof  and  dry. 

"Thank  God  once  more !"  he  said,  and  this  time  with3 
even  deeper  reverence.  "Now  for  a  fire.  If  I  could  only 
get  some  birch  bark." 

He  placed  his  rifle  in  a  corner  of  the  cave  and  went 
out  on  his  hunt.  "By  Jove,  I  must  hurry,  or  my  hands 


THE    CAMP   BY   THE    GAP          319 

will  be  gone  sure."  Looking  upwards  in  the  shelter  of 
the  rock  through  the  driving  snow  he  saw  the  bare  tops 
of  trees.  "Birch,  too,  as  I  am  alive!"  he  cried,  and 
plunging  through  the  bushes  came  upon  a  clump  of 
white  birches. 

With  fingers  that  could  hardly  hold  the  curling  bark 
he  gathered  a  few  bunches  and  hurried  back  to  the  cave. 
Again  he  went  forth  and  gathered  from  the  standing 
trees  an  armful  of  dead  dry  limbs.  "Good!"  he  cried 
aloud  in  triumph.  "We're  not  beaten  yet.  Now  for  the 
fire  and  supper."  He  drew  forth  his  steel  matchbox 
with  numb  and  shaking  fingers,  opened  it  and  stood 
stricken  dumb.  There  were  only  three  matches  in  the 
box.  Unreasoning  terror  seized  him.  Three  chances  for 
life !  He  chose  a  match,  struck  it,  but  in  his  numb  and 
nerveless  fingers  the  match  snapped  near  the  head. 
With  a  new  terror  seizing  him  he  took  a  second  match 
and  struck  it.  The  match  flared,  sputtering.  Eagerly 
he  thrust  the  birch  bark  at  it ;  too  eagerly,  alas,  for  the 
bark  rubbed  out  the  tiny  flame.  He  had  one  match 
left!  One  hope  of  life!  He  closed  his  matchbox.  His 
hands  were  trembling  with  the  cold  and  more  with 
nervous  fear  that  shook  him  in  every  limb.  He  could 
not  bring  himself  to  make  the  last  attempt.  Up  and 
down  the  cave  and  out  and  in  he  stamped,  beating  his 
hands  to  bring  back  the  blood  and  fighting  hard  to  get 
back  his  nerve. 

"This  is  all  rotten  funk!"  he  cried  aloud,  raging  at 
himself.  "I  shall  not  be  beaten." 

Summoning  all  his  powers,  he  once  more  pulled  out 
his  matchbox,  rubbed  his  birch  bark  fine  and,  kneeling 
down,  placed  it  between  his  knees  under  the  shelter  of 
his  hunting  jacket.  Kneeling  there  with  the  matchbox 
in  his  hand,  there  fell  upon  his  spirit  a  great  calm.  "Oh, 


320  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

God!"  he  said  quietly  and  with  the  conviction  in  his 
soul  that  there  was  One  listening,  "help  me  now."  He 
opened  the  matchbox,  took  out  the  match,  struck  it  care- 
fully and  laid  it  among  the  birch  bark.  For  one  heart- 
racking  moment  it  flickered  unsteadily,  then,  catching 
a  resinous  fibre  of  the  bark,  it  flared  up,  shot  out  a  tiny 
tongue  to  one  of  the  heavier  bunches,  caught  hold,  sput- 
tered, smoked,  burst  into  flame.  With  the  prayer  still 
going  in  his  heart,  "God  help  me  now,"  Cameron  fed  the 
flame  with  bits  of  bark  and  tiny  twigs,  adding  more  and 
more  till  the  fire  began  to  leap,  dance,  and  snap,  and  at 
length  gaining  strength  it  roared  its  triumph  over  the 
grim  terror  so  recently  threatened. 

For  the  present  at  least  the  blizzard  was  beaten. 

"Now  God  be  thanked  for  that,"  said  Cameron.  "For 
it  was  past  my  doing." 


ON    THE    WINGS    OF    THE    STOKM       321 


CHAPTER  II 

ON  THE  WINGS  OF  THE  STORM 

SHIVERING  and  hungry  and  fighting  with  sleep, 
Cameron  stamped  up  and  down  his  cave,  making 
now  and  then  excursions  into  the  storm  to  replen- 
ish his  fire.  On  sharpened  sticks  slices  of  venison  were 
cooking  for  his  supper.  Outside  the  storm  raged  with 
greater  violence  than  ever  and  into  the  cave  the  bitter 
cold  penetrated,  effectually  neutralizing  the  warmth  of 
the  little  fire,  for  the  wood  was  hard  to  get  and  a  larger 
fire  he  could  not  afford. 

He  looked  at  his  watch  and  was  amazed  to  find  it 
only  five  o'clock.  How  long  could  he  maintain  this 
fight?  His  heart  sank  at  the  prospect  of  the  long  night 
before  him.  He  sat  down  upon  the  rock  close  beside 
his  cooking  venison  and  in  a  few  moments  was  fast 
asleep. 

He  awoke  with  a  start  and  found  that  the  fire  had 
crept  along  a  jutting  branch  and  had  reached  his 
fingers.  He  sprang  to  his  feet.  The  fire  lay  in  smoul- 
dering embers,  for  the  sticks  were  mere  brushwood. 
A  terrible  fear  seized  him.  His  life  depended  upon  the 
maintaining  of  this  fire.  Carefully  he  assembled  the 
embers  and  nursed  them  into  bright  flame.  At  all  costs 
he  must  keep  awake.  A  further  excursion  into  the 
woods  for  fuel  thoroughly  roused  him  from  his  sleep. 
Soon  his  fire  was  blazing  brightly  again. 

Consulting  his  watch,  he  found  that  he  must  have 
slept  half  an  hour.  He  determined  that  in  order  to 
keep  himself  awake  and  to  provide  against  the  growing 
cold  he  would  lay  in  a  stock  of  firewood,  and  so  he 


322  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

began  a  systematic  search  for  fallen  trees  that  he  might 
drag  to  his  shelter. 

As  he  was  setting  forth  upon  his  search  he  became 
aware  of  a  new  sound  mingling  with  the  roaring  of  the 
storm  about  him,  a  soft,  pounding,  rhythmic  sound. 
With  every  nerve  strained  he  listened.  It  was  like  the 
beating  of  hoofs.  He  ran  out  into  the  storm  and,  hold- 
ing his  hands  to  his  ears,  bent  forward  to  listen. 
Faintly  over  the  roaring  of  the  blizzard,  and  rising  and 
falling  with  it,  there  came  the  sound  of  singing. 

"Am  I  mad?"  he  said  to  himself,  beating  his  head 
with  his  hands.  He  rushed  into  the  cave,  threw  upon 
the  fire  all  the  brushwood  he  had  gathered,  until  it 
sprang  up  into  a  great  glare,  lighting  up  the  cave  and 
its  surroundings.  Then  he  rushed  forth  once  more  to 
the  turn  of  the  rock.  The  singing  could  now  be  plainly 
heard. 

"Three  cheers  for  the  red,  white —  Get  on  there, 
you  variously  coloured  and  multitudinously  cursed 
brutes! —  Three  cheers  for  the  red —  Hie  there,  look 
out,  Little  Thunder !  They  are  off  to  the  left." 

"Hello!"  yelled  Cameron  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 
"Hello,  there!" 

"Whoa!"  yelled  a  voice  sharply.  The  sound  of  hoof 
beats  ceased  and  only  the  roaring  of  the  blizzard  could 
be  heard. 

"Hello!"  cried  Cameron  again.  "Who  are  you?" 
But  only  the  gale  answered  him. 

Again  and  again  he  called,  but  no  voice  replied.  Once 
more  he  rushed  into  the  cave,  seized  his  rifle  and  fired 
a  shot  into  the  air. 

"Crack-crack,"  two  bullets  spat  against  the  rock  over 
his  head. 

"Hold  on  there,  you  fool!"  yelled  Cameron,  dodging 


ON    THE    WINGS    OF    THE    STORM       323 

back  behind  the  rock.  "What  are  you  shooting  at? 
Hello  there!"  Still  there  was  no  reply. 

Long  he  waited  till,  desperate  with  anxiety  lest  his 
unknown  visitors  should  abandon  him,  he  ran  forward 
once  more  beyond  the  ledge  of  the  rock,  shouting, 
"Hello!  Hello!  Don't  shoot!  I'm.  coming  out  to 
you." 

At  the  turn  of  the  rocky  ledge  he  paused,  concentrat- 
ing his  powers  to  catch  some  sound  other  than  the  dull 
boom  and  hiss  of  the  blizzard.  Suddenly  at  his  side 
something  moved. 

"Put  up  your  hands,  quick!" 

A  dark  shape,  with  arm  thrust  straight  before  it, 
loomed  through  the  drift  of  snow. 

"Oh,  I  say — "  began  Cameron. 

"Quick!"  said  the  voice,  with  a  terrible  oath,  "or  I 
drop  you  where  you  stand." 

"All  right !"  said  Cameron,  lifting  up  his  hands  with 
his  rifle  high  above  his  head.  "But  hurry  up!  I  can't 
stand  this  long.  I  am  nearly  frozen  as  it  is." 

The  man  came  forward,  still  covering  him  with  his 
pistol.  He  ran  his  free  hand  over  Cameron's  person. 

"How  many  of  you?"  he  asked,  in  a  voice  sharp  and 
crisp. 

"I  am  all  alone.    But  hurry  up !    I  am  about  all  in." 

"Lead  on  to  your  fire!"  said  the  stranger.  "But  if 
you  want  to  live,  no  monkey  work.  I've  got  you  lined." 

Cameron  led  the  way  to  the  fire.  The  stranger  threw 
a  swift  glance  around  the  cave,  then,  with  eyes  still 
holding  Cameron,  he  whistled  shrilly  on  his  fingers. 
Almost  immediately,  it  seemed  to  Cameron,  there  came 
into  the  light  another  man  who  proved  to  be  an  Indian, 
short,  heavily  built,  with  a  face  hideously  ugly  and 
rendered  more  repulsive  by  the  small,  red-rimmed, 


324  CORPORAL   CAMERON 

blood-shot  eyes  that  seemed  to  Cameron  to  peer  like 
gimlets  into  his  very  soul. 

At  a  word  of  command  the  Indian  possessed  himself 
of  Cameron's  rifle  and  stood  at  the  entrance. 

"Now,"  said  the  stranger,  "talk  quick.  Who  are 
you?  How  did  you  come  here?  Quick  and  to  the 
point." 

"I  am  a  surveyor,"  said  Cameron  briefly.  "Mdvor's 
gang.  I  was  left  at  camp  to  cook,  saw  a  deer,  wounded 
it,  followed  it  up,  lost  my  way,  the  storm  caught  me, 
but,  thank  God,  I  found  this  cave,  and  with  my  last 
match  lit  the  fire.  I  was  trying  to  cook  my  venison 
when  I  heard  you  coming." 

The  grey-brown  eyes  of  the  stranger  never  left  Cam- 
eron's face  while  he  was  speaking. 

"You're  a  liar!"  he  said  with  cold  insolence  when 
Cameron  had  finished  his  tale.  "You  look  to  me  like  a 
blank  blank  horse  thief  or  whiskey  trader." 

Faint  as  he  was  with  cold  and  hunger,  the  deliberate 
insolence  of  the  man  stirred  Cameron  to  sudden  rage. 
The  blood  flooded  his  pale  face. 

"You  cowrard !"  he  cried  in  a  choking  voice,  gathering 
himself  to  spring  at  the  man's  throat. 

But  the  stranger  only  laughed  and,  stepping  back- 
ward, spoke  a  word  to  the  Indian  behind  him.  Before 
he  could  move  Cameron  found  himself  covered  by  the 
rifle  with  the  malignant  eye  of  the  Indian  behind  it. 

"Hold  on,  Little  Thunder,  drop  it !"  said  the  stranger 
with  a  slight  laugh. 

Reluctantly  the  rifle  came  down. 

"All  right,  Mr.  Surveyor,"  said  the  stranger  with  a 
good-natured  laugh.  "Pardon  my  abruptness.  I  was 
merely  testing  you.  One  cannot  be  too  careful  in  these 
parts  nowadays  when  the  woods  are  full  of  horse  thieves 


ON    THE    WINGS    OF    THE    STOKM       325 

and  whiskey  runners.  Oh,  come  on,"  he  continued, 
glancing  at  Cameron's  face,  "I  apologise.  So  you're 
lost,  eh?  Hungry  too?  Well,  so  am  I,  and  though  I 
was  not  going  to  feed  just  yet  we  may  as  well  grub 
together.  Bring  the  cattle  into  shelter  here,"  he  said 
to  Little  Thunder.  "They  will  stand  right  enough. 
And  get  busy  with  the  grub." 

The  Indian  grunted  a  remonstrance. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  replied  the  stranger.  "Hand 
it  over."  He  took  Cameron's  rifle  from  the  Indian 
and  set  it  in  the  corner.  "Now  get  a  move  on!  We 
have  no  time  to  waste." 

So  saying  he  hurried  out  himself  into  the  storm.  In 
a  few  minutes  Cameron  could  hear  the  blows  of  an  axe, 
and  soon  the  stranger  appeared  with  a  load  of  dry  wood 
with  which  he  built  up  a  blazing  fire.  He  was  followed 
shortly  by  the  Indian,  who  from  a  sack  drew  out  bacon, 
hardtack,  and  tea,  and,  with  cooking  utensils  produced 
from  another  sack,  speedily  prepared  supper. 

"Pile  in,"  said  the  stranger  to  Cameron,  passing  him 
the  pan  in  which  the  bacon  and  venison  had  been  fried. 
"Pass  the  tea,  Little  Thunder.  No  time  to  waste. 
We've  got  to  hustle." 

Cameron  was  only  too  eager  to  obey  these  orders, 
and  in  the  generous  warmth  of  the  big  fire  and  under 
the  stimulus  of  the  boiling  tea  his  strength  and  nerve 
began  to  come  back  to  him. 

For  some  minutes  he  was  too  intent  on  satisfying  his 
ravenous  hunger  to  indulge  in  conversation  with  his 
host,  but  as  his  hunger  became  appeased  he  began  to 
give  his  attention  to  the  man  who  had  so  mysteriously 
blown  in  upon  him  out  of  the  blizzard.  There  was  some- 
thing fascinating  about  the  lean,  clean-cut  face  with 
its  firm  lines  about  the  mouth  and  chin  and  its  deep- 


326  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

set  brown-grey  eyes  that  glittered  like  steel  or  shone 
like  limpid  pools  of  light  according  to  the  mood  of  the 
man.  They  were  extraordinary  eyes.  Cameron  remem- 
bered them  like  dagger  points  behind  the  pistol  and 
then  like  kindly  lights  in  a  dark  window  when  he  had 
smiled.  Just  now  as  he  sat  eating  with  eager  haste  the 
eyes  were  staring  forward  into  the  fire  out  of  deep 
sockets,  with  a  far-away,  reminiscent,  kindly  look  in 
them.  The  lumberman's  heavy  skin-lined  jacket  and 
the  overalls  tucked  into  boots  could  not  hide  the 
athletic  lines  of  the  lithe  muscular  figure.  Cameron 
looked  at  his  hands  with  their  long,  sinewy  fingers. 
"The  hands  of  a  gentleman,"  thought  he.  "What  is  his 
history?  And  where  does  he  come  from?" 

"London's  my  home,"  said  the  stranger,  answering 
Cameron's  mental  queries.  "Name,  Raven — Richard 
Colebrooke  Raven — Dick  for  short;  rancher,  horse  and 
cattle  trader;  East  Kootenay;  at  present  running  in 
a  stock  of  goods  and  horses;  and  caught  like  yourself 
in  this  beastly  blizzard." 

"My  name's  Cameron,  and  I'm  from  Edinburgh  a 
year  ago,"  replied  Cameron  briefly. 

"Edinburgh?  Knew  it  ten  years  ago.  Quiet  old 
town,  quaint  folk.  Never  know  what  they  are  thinking 
about  you." 

Cameron  smiled.  How  well  he  remembered  the  calm, 
detached,  critical  but  uncurious  gaze  with  which  the 
dwellers  of  the  modern  Athena  were  wont  to  regard 
mere  outsiders. 

"I  know,"  he  said.    "I  came  from  the  North  myself." 

The  stranger  had  apparently  forgotten  him  and  was 
gazing  steadily  into  the  fire.  Suddenly,  with  extraor- 
dinary energy,  he  sprang  from  the  ground  where  he  had 
been  sitting. 


ON    THE    WINGS    OF    THE    STORM       327 

"Now,"  he  cried,  "en  avant!" 

"Where  to?"  asked  Cameron,  rising  to  his  feet. 

"East  Kootenay,  all  the  way,  and  hustle's  the 
word." 

"Not  me,"  said  Cameron.  "I  must  get  back  to  my 
camp.  If  you  will  kindly  leave  me  some  grub  and  some 
matches  I  shall  be  all  right  and  very  much  obliged. 
Mclvor  will  be  searching  for  me  to-morrow." 

"Ha !"  burst  forth  the  stranger  in  vehement  expletive. 
"Searching  for  you,  heh?"  He  stood  for  a  few  moments 
in  deep  thought,  then  spoke  to  the  Indian  a  few  words 
in  his  own  language.  That  individual,  with  a  fierce 
glance  towards  Cameron,  grunted  a  gruff  reply. 

"No,  no,"  said  Haven,  also  glancing  at  Cameron. 
Again  the  Indian  spoke,  this  time  with  insistent  fierce- 
ness. "No !  no !  you  cold-blooded  devil,"  replied  the 
trader.  "No !  But,"  he  added  with  emphasis,  "we  will 
take  him  with  us.  Pack!  Here,  bring  in  coat,  mitts, 
socks,  Little  Thunder.  And  move  quick,  do  you  hear?" 
His  voice  rang  out  in  imperious  command. 

Little  Thunder,  growling  though  he  might,  no  longer 
delayed,  but  dived  into  the  storm  and  in  a  few  moments 
returned  bearing  a  bag  from  which  he  drew  the  articles 
of  clothing  desired. 

"But  I  am  not  going  with  you,"  said  Cameron  firmly. 
"I  cannot  desert  my  chief  this  way.  It  would  give  him 
no  end  of  trouble.  Leave  me  some  matches  and,  if  you 
can  spare  it,  a  little  grub,  and  I  shall  do  finely." 

"Get  these  things  on,"  replied  Eaven,  "and  quit  talk- 
ing. Don't  be  a  fool!  We  simply  can't  leave  you 
behind.  If  you  only  knew  the  alternative,  you'd — " 

Cameron  glanced  at  the  Indian.  The  eager  fierce  look 
on  that  hideous  face  startled  him. 

"We  will  send  you  back  all  safe  in  a  few  days,"  con- 


328  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

tinned  the  trader  with  a  smile.  "Come,  don't  delay! 
March  is  the  word." 

"I  won't  go!"  said  Cameron  resolutely.  "I'll  stay 
where  I  am." 

"All  right,  you  fool!"  replied  Raven  with  a  savage 
oath.  "Take  your  medicine  then." 

He  nodded  to  the  Indian.  With  a  swift  gleam  of 
joy  in  his  red-rimmed  eyes  the  Indian  reached  swiftly 
for  Cameron's  rifle. 

"No,  too  much  noise,"  said  Raven,  coolly  finishing 
the  packing. 

A  swift  flash  of  a  knife  in  the  firelight,  and  the  Indian 
hurled  himself  upon  the  unsuspecting  Cameron.  But 
quick  as  was  the  attack  Cameron  was  quicker.  Grip- 
ping the  Indian's  uplifted  wrist  with  his  left  hand,  he 
brought  his  right  with  terrific  force  upon  the  point  of 
his  assailant's  chin.  The  Indian  spun  round  like  a  top 
and  pitched  out  into  the  dark. 

"Neatly  done!"  cried  the  trader  with  a  great  oath 
and  a  laugh.  "Hold  on,  Little  Thunder !"  he  continued, 
as  the  Indian  reappeared,  knife  in  hand.  "He'll  come 
now.  Quiet,  you  beast!  Ah-h-h!  Would  you?"  He 
seized  by  the  throat  and  wrist  the  Indian,  who,  frothing 
with  rage  and  snarling  like  a  wild  animal,  was  strug- 
gling to  reach  Cameron  again.  "Down,  you  dog!  Do 
you  hear  ine?" 

With  a  twist  of  his  arms  he  brought  the  Indian  to 
his  knees  and  held  him  as  he  might  a  child.  Quite  sud- 
kienly  the  Indian  grew  still. 

"Good!"  said  Raven.  "Now,  no  more  of  this.  Pack 
up." 

Without  a  further  word  or  glance  at  Cameron,  Little 
Thunder  gathered  up  the  stuff  and  vanished." 

"Now,"  continued  the  trader,  "you  perhaps  see  that 


ON    THE    WINGS    OF    THE    STORM       329 

it  would  be  wise  for  you  to  come  along  without  further 
delay." 

"All  right,"  said  Cameron,  trembling  with  indignant 
rage,  "but  remember,  you'll  pay  for  this." 

The  trader  smiled  kindly  upon  him. 

"Better  get  these  things  on,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the 
articles  of  clothing  upon  the  cave  floor.  "The  blizzard 
is  gathering  force  and  we  have  still  some  hours  to  ride. 
But,"  he  continued,  stepping  close  to  Cameron  and  look- 
ing him  in  the  eyes,  "there  must  be  no  more  nonsense. 
You  can  see  my  man  is  somewhat  short  in  temper;  and 
indeed  mine  is  rather  brittle  at  times." 

For  a  single  instant  a  smile  curled  the  firm  lips 
and  half  closed  the  steely  eyes  of  the  speaker,  and, 
noting  the  smile  and  the  steely  gleam  in  the  grey-brown 
eyes,  Cameron  hastily  decided  that  he  would  no  longer 
resist. 

Warmed  and  fed  and  protected  against  the  blizzard, 
but  with  his  heart  full  of  indignant  wrath,  Cameron 
found  himself  riding  on  a  wretched  cayuse  before  the 
trader  whose  horse  could  but  dimly  be  seen  through 
the  storm,  but  which  from  his  antics  appeared  to  be 
possessed  of  a  thousand  demons. 

"Steady,  Nighthawk,  old  boy !  We'll  get  'em  moving 
after  a  bit,"  said  his  master,  soothing  the  kicking  beast. 
"Aha,  that  was  just  a  shade  violent,"  he  remonstrated, 
as  the  horse  with  a  scream  rushed  open  mouthed  at  a 
blundering  pony  and  sent  him  scuttling  forward  in 
wild  terror  after  the  bunch  already  disappearing  down 
the  trail,  following  Little  Thunder  upon  his  broncho. 

The  blizzard  was  now  in  their  back  and,  though  its 
force  was  thereby  greatly  lessened,  the  black  night  was 
still  thick  with  whirling  snow  and  the  cold  grew  more 
intense  every  moment.  Cameron  could  hardly  see  his 


330  CORPORAL    CAM  EBON 

pony's  ears,  but,  loping  easily  along  the  levels,  scram- 
bling wildly  up  the  hills,  and  slithering  recklessly  down 
the  slopes,  the  little  brute  followed  without  pause  the 
cavalcade  in  front.  How  they  kept  the  trail  Cameron 
could  not  imagine,  but,  with  the  instinct  of  their  breed, 
the  ponies  never  faltered.  Far  before  in  the  black  blind- 
ing storm  could  be  heard  the  voice  of  Little  Thunder, 
rising  and  falling  in  a  kind  of  singing  chant,  a  chant 
which  Cameron  was  afterwards  to  know  right  well. 

"Kai-yai,   hai-yah!      Hai!      Hai!!      Hai!!! 
Kai-yai,  hai-yah!      Hail     Hai!!     Hai!!!" 

Behind  him  came  the  trader,  riding  easily  his  demon- 
spirited  broncho,  and  singing  in  full  baritone  the 
patriotic  ode  dear  to  Britishers  the  world  over : 

"Three  cheers  for  the  red,  white  and  blue! 
Three  cheers  for  the  red,  white  and  blue! 

The  army  and  navy  for  ever, 
Three  cheers  for  the  red,  white  and  blue!" 

As  Cameron  went  pounding  along  through  the  howl- 
ing blizzard,  half  asleep  upon  his  loping,  scrambling, 
slithering  pony,  with  the  "Kai-yai,  hai-yah"  of  Little 
Thunder  wailing  down  the  storm  from  before  him  and 
the  martial  notes  of  the  trader  behind  him  demanding 
cheers  for  Her  Majesty's  naval  and  military  forces,  he 
seemed  to  himself  to  be  in  the  grip  of  some  ghastly 
nightmare  which,  try  as  he  might,  he  was  unable  to 
shake  off. 

The  ghastly  unreality  of  the  nightmare  was  dispelled 
by  the  sudden  halt  of  the  bunch  of  ponies  in  front. 

"All  off!"  cried  the  trader,  riding  forward  upon  his 
broncho,  which,  apparently  quite  untired  by  the  long 
night  ride,  danced  forward  through  the  bunch  gaily 
biting  and  slashing  as  he  went.  "All  off!  Get  them 


ON    THE    WINGS    OF    THE    STORM       331 

into  the  'bunk-house'  there,  Little  Thunder.  Come 
along,  Mr.  Cameron,  we  have  reached  our  camp.  Take 
off  the  bridle  and  blanket  and  let  your  pony  go." 

Cameron  did  as  he  was  told,  and  guided  by  the  sound 
of  the  trader's  voice  made  his  way  to  a  low  log  building 
which  turned  out  to  be  the  deserted  "grub-house"  of  an 
old  lumber  camp. 

"Come  along,"  cried  the  trader  heartily.  "Welcome 
to  Fifty  Mile  Camp.  Its  accommodation  is  somewhat 
limited,  but  we  can  at  least  offer  you  a  bunk,  grub, 
and  fire,  and  these  on  a  night  like  this  are  not  to  be 
despised."  He  fumbled  around  in  the  dark  for  a  few 
moments  and  found  and  lit  a  candle  stuck  in  an  empty 
bottle.  "There,"  he  cried  in  a  tone  of  genial  hospitality 
and  with  a  kindly  smile,  "get  a  fire  on  here  and  make 
yourself  at  home.  Nighthawk  demands  my  attention 
for  the  present.  Don't  look  so  glum,  old  boy,"  he  added, 
slapping  Cameron  gaily  on  the  back.  "The  worst  is 
over."  So  saying,  he  disappeared  into  the  blizzard, 
singing  at  the  top  of  his  voice  in  the  cheeriest  possible 
tones : 

"The  army  and  navy  for  ever, 

Three  cheers  for  the  red,  white  and  hlue!" 

and  leaving  Cameron  sorely  perplexed  as  to  what  man- 
ner of  man  this  might  be,  who  one  moment  could  smile 
with  all  the  malevolence  of  a  fiend  and  again  could  wel- 
come him  with  all  the  generous  and  genial  hospitality 
he  might  show  to  a  loved  and  long-lost  friend. 


332  COEPOEAL    CAMEEON 


CHAPTEE  III 

THE   STONIES 

THE  icy  cold  woke  Cameron  as  the  grey  light  came 
in  through  the  dirty  windows  and  the  cracks 
between  the  logs  of  the  grub-house.     Already 
Little  Thunder  was  awake  and  busy  with  the  fire  in  the 
cracked    and    rusty    stove.      Cameron    lay    still    and 
watched.    Silently,  swiftly  the  Indian  moved  about  his 
work  till  the  fire  began  to  roar  and  the  pot  of  snow 
on  the  top  to  melt.     Then  the  trader  awoke.    With  a 
single  movement  he  was  out  upon  the  floor. 

"All  hands  awake!"  he  shouted.  "Aha,  Mr.  Cam- 
eron! Good  sleep,  eh?  Slept  like  a  bear  myself.  Now 
grub,  and  off!  Still  blowing,  eh?  Well,  so  much  the 
better.  There  is  a  spot  thirty  miles  on  where  we  will 
be  snug  enough.  How's  breakfast,  Little  Thunder? 
This  is  our  only  chance  to-day,  so  don't  spare  the  grub." 
i  Cameron  made  but  slight  reply.  He  was  stiff  and  sore 
with  the  cold  and  the  long  ride  of  the  day  before.  This, 
however,  he  minded  but  little.  If  he  could  only  guess 
what  lay  before  him.  He  was  torn  between  anxiety  and 
indignation.  He  could  hardly  make  himself  believe 
that  he  was  alive  and  in  his  waking  senses.  Twenty- 
four  hours  ago  he  was  breakfasting  with  Mclvor  and 
his  gang  in  the  camp  by  The  Bow;  now  he  was  twenty 
or  thirty  miles  away  in  the  heart  of  the  mountains  and 
practically  a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  as  blood-thirsty 
a  looking  Indian  as  he  had  ever  seen,  and  a  man  who 
remained  to  him  an  inexplicable  mystery.  Who  and 


THESTONIES  333 

what  was  this  man?  He  scanned  his  face  in  the  grow- 
ing light.  Strength,  daring,  alertness,  yes,  and  kindli- 
ness, he  read  in  the  handsome,  brown,  lean  face  of  this 
stranger,  lit  by  its  grey-brown  hazel  eyes  and  set  off 
with  brown  wavy  hair  which  the  absence  of  a  cap  now 
for  the  first  time  revealed. 

"He  looks  all  right,"  Cameron  said  to  himself.  And 
yet  when  he  recalled  the  smile  that  had  curled  these 
thin  lips  and  half  closed  these  hazel  eyes  in  the  cave 
the  night  before,  and  when  he  thought  of  that  murder- 
ous attack  of  his  Indian  companion,  he  found  it  difficult 
wholly  to  trust  the  man  who  was  at  once  his  rescuer 
and  his  captor. 

In  the  days  of  the  early  eighties  there  were  weird 
stories  floating  about  through  the  Western  country  of 
outlaw  Indian  traders  whose  chief  stock  for  barter 
was  a  concoction  which  passed  for  whiskey,  but  the 
ingredients  of  which  were  principally  high  wines  and 
tobacco  juice,  with  a  little  molasses  to  sweeten  it  and 
a  touch  of  blue  stone  to  give  it  bite.  Men  of  reckless 
daring  were  these  traders,  resourceful  and  relentless. 
For  a  bottle  of  their  "hell-fire  fluid"  they  would  buy 
a  buffalo  hide,  a  pack  of  beaver  skins,  or  a  cayuse  from 
an  Indian  without  hesitation  or  remorse.  With  a  keg 
or  two  of  their  deadly  brew  they  would  approach  a 
tribe  and  strip  it  bare  of  a  year's  catch  of  furs. 

In  the  fierce  fights  that  often  followed,  the  Indian, 
poorly  armed  and  half  dead  with  the  poison  he  had 
drunk,  would  come  off  second  best  and  many  a  wretched 
native  was  left  to  burn  and  blister  upon  the  plains  or 
among  the  coulees  at  the  foothills  to  mark  the  trail  of 
the  whiskey  runners. 

In  British  territory  all  this  style  of  barter  was  of 
course  unlawful.  The  giving,  selling,  or  trading  of  any 


334  CORPORAL   CAMERON 

sort  of  intoxicant  to  the  Indians  was  absolutely  pro- 
hibited. But  it  was  a  land  of  vast  and  mighty  spaces, 
and  everywhere  were  hiding  places  where  armies  could 
be  safely  disposed,  and  therefore  there  was  small  chance 
for  the  enforcement  of  the  laws  of  the  Dominion.  There 
was  little  risk  to  the  whiskey  runners;  and,  indeed, 
however  great  the  risk,  the  immense  profits  of  their 
trade  would  have  made  them  willing  to  take  it. 

Hence  all  through  the  Western  plains  the  whiskey 
runners  had  their  way  to  the  degradation  and  demorali- 
zation of  the  unhappy  natives  and  to  the  rapid  decima- 
tion of  their  numbers.  Horse  thieves,  too,  and  cattle 
"rustlers"  operating  on  both  sides  of  "the  line"  added 
to  the  general  confusion  and  lawlessness  that  prevailed 
and  rendered  the  lives  and  property  of  the  few  pioneer 
settlers  insecure. 

It  was  to  deal  with  this  situation  that  the  Dominion 
Government  organised  and  despatched  the  North  West 
Mounted  Police  to  Western  Canada.  Immediately 
upon  the  advent  of  this  famous  corps  matters  began  to 
improve.  The  open  ravages  of  the  whiskey  runners 
ceased  and  these  daring  outlaws  were  forced  to  carry 
on  their  fiendish  business  by  midnight  marches  and 
through  the  secret  trails  and  coulees  of  the  foothills. 
The  profits  of  the  trade,  however,  were  still  great  enough 
to  tempt  the  more  reckless  and  daring  of  these  men. 
Cattle  rustling  and  horse  stealing  still  continued,  but 
on  a  much  smaller  scale.  To  the  whole  country  the 
advent  of  the  police  proved  an  incalculable  blessing. 
But  to  the  Indian  tribes  especially  was  this  the  case. 
The  natives  soon  learned  to  regard  the  police  officers 
as  their  friends.  In  them  they  found  protection  from 
the  unscrupulous  traders  who  had  hitherto  cheated 
them  without  mercy  or  conscience,  as  well  as  from  the 


THESTONIES  335 

whiskey  runners  through  whose  devilish  activities  their 
people  had  suffered  irreparable  loss. 

The  administration  of  the  law  by  the  officers  of  the 
police  with  firm  and  patient  justice  put  an  end  also 
to  the  frequent  and  bloody  wars  that  had  prevailed 
previously  between  the  various  tribes,  till,  by  these  wild 
and  savage  people  the  red  coat  came  to  be  regarded 
with  mingled  awe  and  confidence,  a  terror  to  evil-doers 
and  a  protection  to  those  that  did  well. 

To  which  class  did  this  man  belong?  This  Cameron 
was  utterly  unable  to  decide. 

With  this  problem  vexing  his  mind  he  ate  his  break- 
fast in  almost  complete  silence,  making  only  monosyl- 
labic replies  to  the  trader's  cheerful  attempts  at  con- 
versation. 

Suddenly,  with  disconcerting  accuracy,  the  trader 
seemed  to  read  his  mind. 

"Now,  Mr.  Cameron,"  he  said,  pulling  out  his  pipe, 
"we  will  have  a  smoke  and  a  chat.  Fill  up."  He  passed 
Cameron  his  little  bag  of  tobacco.  "Last  night  things 
were  somewhat  strained,"  he  continued.  "Frankly,  I 
confess,  I  took  you  at  first  for  a  whiskey  runner  and 
a  horse  thief,  and  having  suffered  from  these  gentlemen 
considerably  I  was  taking  no  chances." 

"Why  force  me  to  go  with  you,  then?"  asked  Cameron 
angrily. 

"Why?  For  your  good.  There  is  less  danger  both 
to  you — and  to  me — with  you  under  my  eye,"  replied 
the  trader  with  a  smile. 

"Yet  your  man  would  have  murdered  me?" 

"Well,  you  see  Little  Thunder  is  one  of  the  Blood 
Tribe  and  rather  swift  with  his  knife  at  times,  I  con- 
fess. Besides,  his  family  has  suffered  at  the  hands  of 
the  whiskey  runners.  He  is  a  chief  and  he  owes  it 


336  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

to  these  devils  that  he  is  out  of  a  job  just  now.  You 
may  imagine  he  is  somewhat  touchy  on  the  point  of 
whiskey  traders.  " 

"It  was  you  set  him  on  me,"  said  Cameron,  still 
wrathful. 

"No,  no,"  said  the  trader,  laughing  quietly.  "That 
was  merely  to  startle  you  aut  of  your,  pardon  me,  un- 
reasonable obstinacy.  You  must  believe  me  it  was  the 
only  thing  possible  that  you  should  accompany  us,  for 
if  you  were  a  whiskey  runner  then  it  was  better  for 
us  that  you  should  be  under  guard,  and  if  you  were  a 
surveyor  it  was  better  for  you  that  you  should  be  in 
our  care.  Why,  man,  this  storm  may  go  for  three 
days,  and  you  would  be  stiff  long  before  anyone  could 
find  you.  No,  no,  I  confess  our  measures  may  have 
seemed  somewhat — ah — abrupt,  but,  believe  me,  they 
were  necessary,  and  in  a  day  or  two  you  will  acknowl- 
edge that  I  am  in  the  right  of  it.  Meantime  let's  trust 
each  other,  and  there  is  my  hand  on  it,  Cameron." 

There  was  no  resisting  the  frank  smile,  the  open  man- 
ner of  the  man,  and  Cameron  took  the  offered  hand  with 
a  lighter  heart  than  he  had  known  for  the  last  twelve 
hours. 

"Now,  then,  that's  settled,"  cried  the  trader,  springing 
to  his  feet.  "Cameron,  .you  can  pack  this  stuff  together 
while  Little  Thunder  and  I  dig  out  our  bunch  of  horses. 
They  will  be  half  frozen  and  it  will  be  hard  to  knock 
any  life  into  them." 

It  was  half  an  hour  before  Cameron  had  his  packs 
ready,  and,  there  being  no  sign  of  the  trader,  he  put  on 
his  heavy  coat,  mitts,  and  cap  and  fought  his  way 
through  the  blizzard,  which  was  still  raging  in  full  force, 
to  the  bunk-house,  a  log  building  about  thirty  feet  long 
and  half  as  wide,  in  which  were  huddled  the  horses  and 


337 


ponies  to  the  number  of  about  twenty.  Eight  of  the 
ponies  carried  pack  saddles,  and  so  busy  were  Kaven 
and  the  Indian  with  the  somewhat  delicate  operation 
of  assembling  the  packs  that  he  was  close  upon  them 
before  they  were  aware.  Boxes  and  bags  were  strewn 
about  in  orderly  disorder,  and  on  one  side  were  several 
small  kegs.  As  Cameron  drew  near  the  Indian,  who 
was  the  first  to  notice  him,  gave  a  grunt. 

"What  the  blank  blank  are  you  doing  here?"  cried 
Raven  with  a  string  of  oaths,  flinging  a  buffalo  robe 
over  the  kegs.  "My  word !  You  startled  me,"  he  added 
with  a  short  laugh.  "I  haven't  got  used  to  you  yet. 
All  right,  Little  Thunder,  get  these  boxes  together. 
Bring  that  grey  cay  use  here,  Cameron,  the  one  with 
the  rope  on  near  the  door." 

This  was  easier  said  than  done,  for  the  half-broken 
brute  snorted  and  plunged  till  Cameron,  taking  a  turn 
of  the  rope  round  his  nose,  forced  him  up  through  the 
trembling,  crowding  bunch. 

"Good!"  said  the  trader.  "You  are  all  right.  You 
didn't  learn  to  rope  a  cayuse  in  Edinburgh,  I  guess. 
Here's  his  saddle.  Cinch  it  on." 

While  Cameron  was  engaged  in  carrying  out  these 
orders  Little  Thunder  and  the  trader  were  busy  roping 
boxes  and  kegs  into  pack  loads  with  a  skill  and  dex- 
terity that  could  only  be  the  result  of  long  practice. 

"Now,  then,  Cameron,  we'll  load  some  of  this 
molasses  on  your  pony." 

So  saying,  Raven  picked  up  one  of  the  kegs. 

"Hello,  Little  Thunder,  this  keg's  leaking.  It's  lost 
the  plug,  as  I'm  a  sinner." 

Sure  enough,  from  a  small  auger  hole  golden  syrup 
was  streaming  over  the  edge  of  the  keg. 

"I  am  certain  I  put  that  plug  in  yesterday,"  said 


338  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

Raven.  "Must  have  been  knocked  out  last  night.  For- 
tunately it  stood  right  end  up  or  we  should  have  lost 
the  whole  keg." 

While  he  was  speaking  he  was  shaping  a  small  stick 
into  a  small  plug,  which  he  drove  tight  into  the  keg. 

"That  will  fix  it,"  he  said.  "Now  then,  put  these 
boxes  on  the  other  side.  That  will  do.  Take  your  pony 
toward  the  door  and  tie  him  there.  Little  Thunder  and 
I  will  load  the  rest  and  bring  them  up." 

In  a  very  short  time  all  the  remaining  goods  were 
packed  into  neat  loads  and  lashed  upon  the  pack  ponies 
in  such  a  careful  manner  that  neither  box  nor  keg 
could  be  seen  outside  the  cover  of  blankets  and  buffalo 
skins. 

"Now  then,"  cried  Raven.  "Boots  and  saddles!  We 
will  give  you  a  better  mount  to-day,"  he  continued, 
selecting  a  stout  built  sorrel  pony.  "There  you  are! 
And  a  dandy  he  is,  sure-footed  as  a  goat  and  easy  as 
a  cradle.  Now  then,  Nighthawk,  we  shall  just  clear 
out  this  bunch." 

As  he  spoke  he  whipped  the  blanket  off  his  horse. 
Cameron  could  not  forbear  an  exclamation  of  wonder 
and  admiration  as  his  eyes  fell  upon  Raven's  horse. 
And  not  without  reason,  for  Nighthawk  was  as  near 
perfection  as  anything  in  horse  flesh  of  his  size  could 
be.  His  coal-black  satin  skin,  his  fine  flat  legs,  small 
delicate  head,  sloping  hips,  round  and  well  ribbed  barrel, 
all  showed  his  breed.  Rolling  up  the  blanket,  Raven 
strapped  it  to  his  saddle  and,  flinging  himself  astride 
his  horse,  gave  a  yell  that  galvanised  the  wretched, 
shivering,  dispirited  bunch  into  immediate  life  and 
activity. 

"Get  out  the  packers  there,  Little  Thunder.  Hurry 
up !  Don't  be  all  day.  Cameron,  fall  behind  with  me." 


THESTONIES  339 

Little  Thunder  seized  the  leading  line  of  the  first 
packer,  leaped  astride  his  own  pony,  and  pushed  out 
into  the  storm.  But  the  rest  of  the  animals  held  back 
and  refused  to  face  the  blizzard.  The  traditions  of  the 
cayuse  are  unheroic  in  the  matter  of  blizzards  and  are 
all  in  favor  of  turning  tail  to  every  storm  that  blows. 
But  Nighthawk  soon  overcame  their  reluctance,  whether 
traditional  or  otherwise.  With  a  fury  nothing  less  than 
demoniacal  he  fell  upon  the  animals  next  him  and 
inspired  them  with  such  terror  that,  plunging  forward, 
they  carried  the  bunch  crowding  through  the  door.  It 
was  no  small  achievement  to  turn  some  twenty  shiver- 
ing, balky,  stubborn  cayuses  and  bronchos  out  of  their 
shelter  and  swing  them  through  the  mazes  of  the  old 
lumber  camp  into  the  trail  again.  But  with  Little 
Thunder  breaking  the  trail  and  chanting  his  encourag- 
ing refrain  in  front  and  the  trader  and  his  demoniac 
stallion  dynamically  bringing  up  the  rear,  this  achieve- 
ment was  effected  without  the  straying  of  a  single 
animal.  Raven  was  in  great  spirits,  singing,  shouting, 
and  occasionally  sending  Nighthawk  open-mouthed  in 
a  fierce  charge  upon  the  laggards  hustling  the  long  strag- 
gling line  onwards  through  the  whirling  drifts  without 
pause  or  falter.  Occasionally  he  dropped  back  beside 
Cameron,  who  brought  up  the  rear,  bringing  a  word 
of  encouragement  or  approval. 

"How  do  they  ever  keep  the  trail?"  asked  Cameron 
on  one  of  these  occasions. 

"Little  Thunder  does  the  trick.  He  is  the  greatest 
tracker  in  this  country,  unless  it  is  his  cayuse,  which 
has  a  nose  like  a  bloodhound  and  will  keep  the  trail 
through  three  feet  of  snow.  The  rest  of  the  bunch 
follow.  They  are  afraid  to  do  anything  else  in  a  bliz- 
zard like  this." 


340  COKPOKAL    CAMERON 

So  hour  after  hour,  upward  along  mountainsides,  for 
by  this  time  they  were  far  into  the  Kockies,  and  down 
again  through  thick  standing  forests  in  the  valleys, 
across  ravines  and  roaring  torrents  which  the  warm 
weather  of  the  previous  days  had  released  from  the 
glaciers,  and  over  benches  of  open  country,  where  the 
grass  lay  buried  deep  beneath  the  snow,  they  pounded 
along.  The  clouds  of  snow  ever  whirling  about  Cam- 
eron's head  and  in  front  of  his  eyes  hid  the  distant  land- 
scape and  engulfed  the  head  of  the  cavalcade  before  him. 
Without  initiative  and  without  volition,  but  in  a 
dreamy  haze,  he  sat  his  pony  to  which  he  entrusted 
his  life  and  fortune  and  waited  for  the  will  of  his  mys- 
terious companion  to  develope. 

About  mid-day  Nighthawk  danced  back  out  of  the 
storm  ahead  and  dropped  in  beside  Cameron's  pony. 

"A  chinook  coming,"  said  Raven.  "Getting  warmer, 
don't  you  notice?" 

"No,  I  didn't  notice,  but  now  that  you  call  attention 
to  it  I  do  feel  a  little  more  comfortable,"  replied  Cam- 
eron. 

"Sure  thing.    Rain  in  an  hour." 

"An  hour?    In  six  perhaps." 

"In  less  than  an  hour,"  replied  Raven,  "the  chinook 
will  be  here.  We're  riding  into  it.  It  blows  down 
through  the  pass  before  us  and  it  will  lick  up  this  snow 
in  no  time.  You'll  see  the  grass  all  about  you  before 
three  hours  are  passed." 

The  event  proved  the  truth  of  Raven's  prediction. 
With  incredible  rapidity  the  temperature  continued  to 
rise.  In  half  an  hour  Cameron  discarded  his  mitts  and 
unbuttoned  his  skin-lined  jacket.  The  wind  dropped 
to  a  gentle  breeze,  swinging  more  and  more  into  the 
southwest,  and  before  the  hour  was  gone  the  sun  was 


THESTONIES  341 

shining  fitfully  again  and  the  snow  had  changed  into 
a  drizzling  rain. 

The  extraordinary  suddenness  of  these  atmospheric 
changes  only  increased  the  sense  of  phantasmic  un- 
reality with  which  Cameron  had  been  struggling  during 
the  past  thirty-six  hours.  As  the  afternoon  wore  on 
the  air  became  sensibly  warmer.  The  moisture  rose  in 
steaming  clouds  from  the  mountainsides,  the  snow  ran 
everywhere  in  gurgling  rivulets,  the  rivulets  became 
streams,  the  streams  rivers,  and  the  mountain  torrents 
which  they  had  easily  forded  earlier  in  the  day  threat- 
ened to  sweep  them  away. 

The  trader's  spirits  appeared  to  rise  with  the  tem- 
perature. He  was  in  high  glee.  It  was  as  if  he  had 
escaped  some  imminent  peril. 

"We  will  make  it  all  right!"  he  shouted  to  Little 
Thunder  as  they  paused  for  a  few  moments  in  a  grassy 
glade.  "Can  we  make  the  Forks  before  dark?" 

Little  Thunder's  grunt  might  mean  anything,  but  to 
the  trader  it  expressed  doubt. 

"On  then !"  he  shouted.  "We  must  make  these  brutes 
get  a  move  on.  They'll  feed  when  we  camp." 

So  saying  he  hurled  his  horse  upon  the  straggling 
bunch  of  ponies  that  were  eagerly  snatching  mouthfuls 
of  grass  from  which  the  chinook  had  already  melted  the 
snow.  Mercilessly  and  savagely  the  trader,  with  whip 
and  voice  and  charging  stallion,  hustled  the  wretched 
animals  into  the  trail  once  more.  And  through  the  long 
afternoon,  writh  unceasing  and  brutal  ferocity,  he  be- 
labored the  faltering,  stumbling,  half-starved  creatures, 
till  from  sheer  exhaustion  they  were  like  to  fall  upon 
the  trail.  It  was  a  weary  business  and  disgusting,  but 
the  demon  spirit  of  Nighthawk  seemed  to  have  passed 
into  his  master,  and  with  an  insistence  that  knew  no 


342  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

mercy  together  they  battered  that  wretched  bunch  up 
and  down  the  long  slopes  till  at  length  the  merciful 
night  fell  upon  the  straggling,  stumbling  cavalcade  and 
made  a  rapid  pace  impossible. 

At  the  head  of  a  long  slope  Little  Thunder  came  to 
an  abrupt  halt,  rode  to  the  rear  and  grunted  something 
to  his  chief. 

"What?"  cried  Raven  in  a  startled  voice.  "Stonies! 
Where?" 

Little  Thunder  pointed. 

"Did  they  see  you?"  This  insult  Little  Thunder  dis- 
dained to  notice.  "Good !"  replied  Raven.  "Stay  here, 
Cameron,  we  will  take  a  look  at  them." 

In  a  very  few  minutes  he  returned,  an  eager  tone  in 
his  voice,  an  eager  gleam  in  his  eyes. 

"Stonies !"  he  exclaimed.  "And  a  big  camp.  On  their 
way  back  from  their  winter's  trapping.  Old  Macdou- 
gall  himself  in  charge,  I  think.  Do  you  know  him?" 

"I  have  heard  of  him,"  said  Cameron,  and  his  tone 
indicated  his  reverence  for  the  aged  pioneer  Methodist 
missionary  who  had  accomplished  such  marvels  during 
his  long  years  of  service  with  his  Indian  flock  and  had 
gained  such  a  wonderful  control  over  them. 

"Yes,  he  is  all  right,"  replied  Raven,  answering  his 
tone.  "He  is  a  shrewd  old  boy,  though.  Looks  mighty 
close  after  the  trading  end.  Well,  we  will  perhaps  do 
a  little  trade  ourselves.  But  we  won't  disturb  the  old 
man,"  he  continued,  as  if  to  himself.  "Come  and  take 
a  look  at  them." 

Little  Thunder  had  halted  at  a  spot  where  the  trail 
forked.  One  part  led  to  the  right  down  the  long  slope 
of  the  mountain,  the  other  to  the  left,  gradually  climb- 
ing toward  the  top.  The  Stonies  had  come  by  the  right 
hand  trail  and  were  now  camped  off  the  trail  on  a  little 


THESTONIES  343 

sheltered  bench  further  down  the  side  of  the  mountain 
and  surrounded  by  a  scattering  group  of  tall  pines. 
Through  the  misty  night  their  camp  fires  burned 
cheerily,  lighting  up  their  lodges.  Around  the  fires 
could  be  seen  groups  of  men  squatted  on  the  ground 
and  here  and  there  among  the  lodges  the  squaws  were 
busy,  evidently  preparing  the  evening  meal.  At  one 
side  of  the  camp  could  be  distinguished  a  number  of 
tethered  ponies  and  near  them  others  quietly  grazing. 

But  though  the  camp  lay  only  a  few  hundred  yards 
away  and  on  a  lower  level,  not  a  sound  came  up  from 
it  to  Cameron's  ears  except  the  occasional  bark  of  a 
dog.  The  Indians  are  a  silent  people  and  move  noise- 
lessly through  Nature's  solitudes  as  if  in  reverence  for 
her  sacred  mysteries. 

"We  won't  disturb  them,"  said  Kaven  in  a  low  tone. 
"We  will  slip  past  quietly." 

"They  come  from  Morleyville,  don't  they?"  enquired 
Cameron. 

"Yes." 

"Why  not  visit  the  camp?"  exclaimed  Cameron 
eagerly.  "I  am  sure  Mr.  Macdougall  would  be  glad  to 
see  us.  And  why  could  not  I  go  back  with  him?  My 
camp  is  right  on  the  trail  to  Morleyville." 

Raven  stood  silent,  evidently  perplexed. 

"Well,"  he  replied  hesitatingly,  "we  shall  see  later. 
Meantime  let's  get  into  camp  ourselves.  And  no  noise, 
please."  His  voice  was  low  and  stern. 

Silently,  and  as  swiftly  as  was  consistent  with  silence, 
Little  Thunder  led  his  band  of  pack  horses  along  the 
upper  trail,  the  trader  and  Cameron  bringing  up  the 
rear  with  the  other  ponies.  For  about  half  a  mile  they 
proceeded  in  this  direction,  then,  turning  sharply  to  the 
right,  they  cut  across  through  the  straggling  woods,  and 


344  CORPORAL    CAMERON 


so  came  upon  the  lower  trail,  beyond  the  encampment 
of  the  Stonies  and  well  out  of  sight  of  it. 

"We  camp  here,"  said  Raven  briefly.  "But  remember, 
no  noise." 

"What  about  visiting  their  camp?"  enquired  Cam- 
eron. 

"There  is  no  immediate  hurry." 

He  spoke  a  few  words  to  Little  Thunder  in  Indian. 

"Little  Thunder  thinks  they  may  be  Blackfeet.  We 
can't  be  too  careful.  Now  let's  get  grub." 

Cameron  made  no  reply.  The  trader's  hesitating 
manner  awakened  all  his  former  suspicions.  He  was 
firmly  convinced  the  Indians  were  Stonies  and  he  re- 
solved that  come  what  might  he  would  make  his  escape 
to  their  camp. 

Without  unloading  their  packs  they  built  their  fire 
upon  a  large  flat  rock  and  there,  crouching  about  it, 
for  the  mists  were  chilly,  they  had  their  supper. 

In  undertones  Raven  and  Little  Thunder  conversed 
in  the  Indian  speech.  The  gay  careless  air  of  the  trader 
had  given  place  to  one  of  keen,  purposeful  determina- 
tion. There  was  evidently  serious  business  on  foot. 
Immediately  after  supper  Little  Thunder  vanished  into 
the  mist. 

"We  may  as  well  make  ourselves  comfortable,"  said 
Raven,  pulling  a  couple  of  buffalo  skins  from  a  pack 
and  giving  one  to  Cameron.  "Little  Thunder  is  gone  to 
reconnoiter."  He  threw  some  sticks  upon  the  fire. 
"Better  go  to  sleep,"  he  suggested.  "We  shall  probably 
visit  the  camp  in  the  morning  if  they  should  prove  to 
be  Stonies." 

Cameron  made  no  reply,  but,  lying  down  upon  his 
buffalo  skin,  pretended  to  sleep,  though  with  the  firm 
resolve  to  keep  awake.  But  he  had  passed  through  an 


THE    STONIES  345 

exhausting  day  and  before  many  minutes  had  passed 
he  fell  into  a  doze. 

From  this  he  awoke  with  a  start,  his  ears  filled  with 
the  sound  of  singing.  Beyond  the  fire  lay  Raven  upon 
his  face,  apparently  sound  asleep.  The  singing  came 
from  the  direction  of  the  Indian  camp.  Noiselessly  he 
rose  and  stole  up  the  trail  to  a  point  from  which  the 
camp  was  plainly  visible.  A  wonderful  scene  lay  before 
his  eyes.  A  great  fire  burned  in  the  centre  of  the  camp 
and  round  the  fire  the  whole  band  of  Indians  was  gath- 
ered with  their  squaws  in  the  background.  In  the 
centre  of  the  circle  stood  a  tall  man  with  a  venerable 
beard,  apparently  reading.  After  he  had  read  the  sound 
of  singing  once  more  rose  upon  the  night  air. 

"Stonies,  all  right,"  said  Cameron  exultantly  to  him- 
self. "And  at  evening  prayers,  too,  by  Jove." 

He  remembered  hearing  Mclvor  tell  how  the  Stonies 
never  went  on  a  hunting  expedition  without  their  hymn 
books  and  never  closed  a  day  without  their  evening 
worship.  The  voices  were  high-pitched  and  thin,  but 
from  that  distance  they  floated  up  soft  and  sweet.  He 
could  clearly  distinguish  the  music  of  the  old  Methodist 
hymn,  the  words  of  which  were  quite  familiar  to  him : 

"There  is  a  fountain  filled  with  blood 

Drawn  from  Immanuel's  veins; 
And  sinners  plunged  beneath  that  flood, 
Lose  all  their  guilty  stains." 

Over  and  over  again,  with  strange  wild  cadences  of 
their  own  invention,  the  worshippers  wailed  forth  the 
refrain, 

"Lose  all  their  guilty  stains." 

Then,  all  kneeling,  they  went  to  prayer.  Over  all,  the 
misty  moon  struggling  through  the  broken  clouds  cast 
a  pale  and  ghostly  light.  It  was,  to  Cameron  with  his 


346 


old-world  religious  conventions  and  traditions,  a  weirdly 
fascinating  but  intensely  impressive  scene.  Afar  be- 
yond the  valley,  appeared  in  dim  outline  the  great  moun- 
tains, with  their  heads  thrust  up  into  the  sky.  Nearer 
at  their  bases  gathered  the  pines,  at  first  in  solid  gloomy 
masses,  then,  as  they  approached,  in  straggling  groups, 
and  at  last  singly,  like  tall  sentinels  on  guard.  On  the 
grassy  glade,  surrounded  by  the  sentinel  pines,  the 
circle  of  dusky  worshippers,  kneeling  about  their  camp 
fire,  lifted  their  faces  heavenward  and  their  hearts  God- 
ward  in  prayer,  and  as  upon  those  dusky  faces  the  fire- 
light fell  in  fitful  gleams,  so  upon  their  hearts,  dark  with 
the  superstitions  of  a  hundred  generations,  there  fell 
the  gleams  of  the  torch  held  high  by  the  hands  of  their 
dauntless  ambassador  of  the  blessed  Gospel  of  the  Grace 
of  God. 

With  mingled  feelings  of  reverence  and  of  pity  Cam- 
eron stood  gazing  down  upon  this  scene,  resolved  more 
than  ever  to  attach  himself  to  this  camp  whose  days 
closed  with  evening  prayer. 

"Impressive  scene !"  said  a  mocking  voice  in  his  ear. 

Cameron  started.  A  sudden  feeling  of  repulsion 
seized  him. 

"Yes,"  he  said  gravely,  "an  impressive  scene,  in  my 
eyes  at  least,  and  I  should  not  wonder  if  in  the  eyes  of 
God  as  well." 

"Who  knows?"  said  Raven  gruffly,  as  they  both 
turned  back  to  the  fire. 


THE    DULL    BED    STAIN  347 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  DULL  BED  STAIN 

THE  minutes  passed  slowly.  The  scene  in  the  camp 
of  the  Stonies  that  he  had  just  witnessed  drove 
all  sleep  from  Cameron.  He  was  firmly  resolved 
that  at  the  first  opportunity  he  would  make  his  break 
for  liberty ;  for  he  was  now  fully  aware  that  though  not 
confessedly  he  wras  none  the  less  really  a  prisoner. 

As  he  lay  intently  thinking,  forming  and  discarding 
plans  of  escape,  two  Indians,  followed  by  Little  Thun- 
der, walked  quietly  within  the  circle  of  the  firelight  and 
with  a  nod  and  a  grunt  towards  Haven  sat  down  by  the 
fire.  Raven  passed  his  tobacco  bag,  which,  without  a 
word,  they  accepted;  and,  filling  their  pipes,  they 
gravely  began  to  smoke. 

"White  Cloud,"  grunted  Little  Thunder,  waving  his 
hand  to  the  first  Indian.  "Big  Chief.  Him,"  pointing 
to  the  second  Indian,  "White  Cloud  brother." 

"My  brothers  had  good  hunting  this  year,"  said  Raven. 

The  Indians  grunted  for  reply. 

"Your  packs  are  heavy?" 

Another  grunt  made  answer. 

"We  have  much  goods,"  continued  Raven.  "But  the 
time  is  short.  Come  and  see." 

Raven  led  them  out  into  the  dark  towards  the  pack 
horse,  Little  Thunder  remaining  by  the  fire.  From  the 
darkness  Cameron  could  hear  Raven's  voice  in  low  tones 
and  the  Indians'  guttural  replies  mingled  writh  unusual 
laughter. 


348  CORPORAL    CAM  EBON 

When  they  returned  the  change  in  their  appearance 
was  plainly  visible.  Their  eyes  were  gleaming  with 
an  unnatural  excitement,  their  grave  and  dignified 
demeanour  had  given  place  to  an  eager,  almost  childish 
excitement.  Cameron  did  not  need  the  whiff  that  came 
to  him  from  their  breath  to  explain  the  cause  of  this 
sudden  change.  The  signs  were  to  him  only  too  familiar. 

"My  brothers  will  need  to  hurry,"  said  Kaven.  "We 
move  when  the  moon  is  high." 

"Good!"  replied  White  Cloud.  "Go,  quick."  He 
waved  his  hand  toward  the  dark.  "Come."  He  brought 
it  back  again.  "Heap  quick."  Without  further  word 
they  vanished,  silent  as  the  shadows  that  swallowed 
them  up. 

"Now,  then,  Cameron,  we  have  big  business  on  foot. 
Up  and  give  us  a  hand.  Little  Thunder,  take  the  bunch 
down  the  trail  a  couple  of  miles  and  come  back." 

Selecting  one  of  the  pack  ponies,  he  tied  it  to  a  pine 
tree  and  the  others  he  hurried  off  with  Little  Thunder 
down  the  trail. 

"Going  to  do  some  trading,  are  you?"  enquired  Cam- 
eron. 

"Yes,  if  the  price  is  right,  though  Fm  not  too  keen," 
replied  Raven,  throwing  himself  down  beside  the  fire. 

"What  are  you  after?    Furs?" 

"Yes,  furs  mostly.    Anything  they  have  to  offer." 

"What  do  you  give  in  exchange?" 

Raven  threw  him  a  sharp  glance,  but  Cameron's  face 
was  turned  toward  the  fire. 

"Oh,  various  articles.  Wearing  apparel,  tobacco, 
finery.  Molasses  too.  They  are  very,  fond  of  molasses." 

"Molasses?"  echoed  Cameron,  with  a  touch  of  scorn. 
"It  was  not  molasses  they  had  to-night.  Why  did  you 
give  them  whiskey?"  he  asked  boldly. 


THE    DULL   BED    STAIN  349 

Raven  started.  His  eyes  narrowed  to  two  piercing 
points. 

"Why?  That's  my  business,  my  friend.  I  keep  a 
flask  to  treat  my  guests  occasionally.  Have  you  any 
objection?" 

"It  is  against  the  law,  I  understand,  and  mighty  bad 
for  the  Indians." 

"Against  the  law?"  echoed  Kaven  in  childlike  sur- 
prise. "You  don't  tell  me !" 

"So  the  Mounted  Police  declare,"  said  Cameron,  turn- 
ing his  eyes  upon  Haven's  face. 

"The  Mounted  Police!"  exclaimed  Raven,  pouring 
forth  a  flood  of  oaths.  "That !  for  the  Mounted  Police !" 
he  said,  snapping  his  fingers. 

"But,"  replied  Cameron,  "I  understood  you  very 
especially  to  object  to  the  operations  of  the  whiskey 
runners?" 

"Whiskey  runners?  Who's  speaking  of  whiskey  run- 
ners? I'm  talking  of  the  approved  method  of  treating 
our  friends  in  this  country,  and  if  the  police  should  in- 
terfere between  me  and  my  friends  they  would  be  carry- 
ing things  a  little  too  far.  But  all  the  same,"  he 
continued,  hastily  checking  himself,  "the  police  are  all 
right.  They  put  down  a  lot  of  lawlessness  in  this  coun- 
try. But  I  may  as  well  say  to  you  here,  Mr.  Cameron," 
he  continued,  "that  there  are  certain  things  it  is  best 
not  to  see,  or,  having  seen,  to  speedily  forget,"  As  he 
spoke  these  words  his  eyes  narrowed  again  to  two  grey 
points  that  seemed  to  bore  right  through  to  Cameron's 
brain. 

"This  man  is  a  very  devil,"  thought  Cameron  to  him- 
self. "I  was  a  fool  not  to  see  it  before."  But  to  the 
trader  he  said,  "There  are  some  things  I  would  rather 
not  see  and  some  things  I  cannot  forget." 


350  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

Before  another  hour  had  passed  the  Stonies  reap- 
peared, this  time  on  ponies.  The  trader  made  no  move 
to  meet  them.  He  sat  quietly  smoking  by  the  fire. 
Silently  the  Indians  approached  the  fire  and  threw 
down  a  pack  of  furs. 

"Huh !"  said  White  Cloud.  "Good!  Ver  good!"  He 
opened  his  pack  and  spread  out  upon  the  rock  with 
impressive  deliberation  its  contents.  And  good  they 
were,  even  to  Cameron's  uncultured  eye.  Wolf  skins  and 
bear,  cinnamon  and  black,  beaver,  fox,  and  mink,  as 
well  as  some  magnificent  specimens  of  mountain  goat 
and  sheep.  "Good!  Good!  Big — fine — heap  good!" 
White  Cloud  continued  to  exclaim  as  he  displayed  his 
collection. 

Raven  turned  them  over  carelessly,  feeling  the  furs, 
examining  and  weighing  the  pelts.  Then  going  to  the 
pack  horse  he  returned  and  spread  out  upon  the  rock 
beside  the  furs  the  goods  which  he  proposed  to  offer  in 
exchange.  And  a  pitiful  display  it  was,  gaudy  calicoes 
and  flimsy  flannels,  the  brilliance  of  whose  colour  was 
only  equalled  by  the  shoddiness  of  the  material,  cheap 
domestic  blankets,  half  wool  half  cotton,  prepared 
especially  for  the  Indian  trade.  These,  with  beads  and 
buttons,  trinkets,  whole  strings  of  brass  rings,  rolls  of 
tobacco,  bags  of  shot  and  powder,  pot  metal  knives,  and 
other  articles,  all  bearing  the  stamp  of  glittering  fraud, 
constituted  his  stock  for  barter.  The  Indians  made 
strenuous  efforts  to  maintain  an  air  of  dignified  indif- 
ference, but  the  glitter  in  their  eyes  betrayed  their  eager- 
ness. White  Cloud  picked  up  a  goat  skin,  heavy  with 
its  deep  silky  fur  and  with  its  rich  splendour  covered 
over  the  glittering  mass  of  Raven's  cheap  and  tawdry 
stuff. 

"Good  trade,"  said  White  Cloud.    "Him,"  pointing  to 


THE    DULL    EED    STAIN  351 

the  skin,  "and,"  turning  it  back,  "him,"  laying  his  hand 
upon  the  goods  beneath. 

Eaven  smiled  carelessly,  pulled  out  a  flask  from  his 
pocket,  took  a  drink  and  passed  it  to  the  others.  Desper- 
ately struggling  to  suppress  his  eagerness  and  to  main- 
tain his  dignified  bearing,  White  Cloud  seized  the 
flask  and,  drinking  long  and  deep,  passed  it  to  his 
brother. 

"Have  a  drink,  Cameron,"  said  Eaven,  as  he  received 
his  flask  again. 

"No!"  said  Cameron  shortly.  "And  I  would  suggest 
to  your  friends  that  they  complete  the  trade  before  they 
drink  much  more." 

"My  friend  here  says  this  is  no  good,"  said  Eaven  to  the 
Indians,  tapping  the  flask  with  his  finger.  "He  says  no 
more  drink." 

White  Cloud  shot  a  keen  enquiring  glance  at  Cameron, 
but  he  made  no  reply  other  than  to  stretch  out  his  hand 
for  Eaven' s  flask  again.  Before  many  minutes  the  effi- 
cacy of  Eaven's  methods  of  barter  began  to  be  apparent. 
The  Indians  lost  their  grave  and  dignified  demeanour. 
They  became  curious,  eager,  garrulous,  and  demonstra- 
tive. With  childish  glee  they  began  examining  more 
closely  Eaven's  supply  of  goods,  trying  on  the  rings, 
draping  themselves  in  the  gaudy  calicoes  and  flannels. 
At  length  Eaven  rolled  up  his  articles  of  barter  and  set 
them  upon  one  side. 

"How  much?"  he  said. 

White  Cloud  selected  the  goat  skin,  laid  upon  it  some 
half  dozen  beaver  and  mink,  and  a  couple  of  foxes,  and 
rolling  them  up  in  a  pile  laid  them  beside  Eaven's  bundle. 

The  trader  smiled  and  shook  his  head.  "No  good.  No 
good."  So  saying  he  took  from  his  pack  another  flask 
and  laid  it  upon  his  pile. 


352  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

Instantly  the  Indian  increased  his  pile  by  a  bear  skin, 
a  grey  wolf,  and  a  mountain  goat.  Then,  without  wait- 
ing for  Raven's  words,  he  reached  for  the  flask. 

"No,  not  yet,"  said  Raven  quietly,  laying  his  hand 
down  upon  the  flask. 

The  Indian  with  gleaming  eyes  threw  on  the  pile  some 
additional  skins. 

"Good !"  said  Raven,  surrendering  the  flask. 

Swiftly  the  Indian  caught  it  up  and,  seizing  the  cork 
in  his  teeth,  bit  it  off  close  to  the  neck  of  the  flask. 
Snatching  his  knife  from  his  pocket  with  almost  frantic 
energy,  he  proceeded  to  dig  out  the  imbedded  cork. 

"Here,"  said  Raven,  taking  the  flask  from  him.  "Let 
me  have  it."  From  his  pocket  he  took  a  knife  contain- 
ing a  corkscrew  and  with  this  he  drew  the  cork  and 
handed  the  flask  back  to  the  Indian. 

With  shameless,  bestial  haste  the  Indian  placed  the 
bottle  to  his  lips  and  after  a  long  pull  passed  it  to  his 
waiting  brother. 

At  this  point  Raven  rose  as  if  to  close  the  negotiations 
and  took  out  his  own  flask  for  a  final  drink,  but  found  it 
empty. 

"Aha !"  he  exclaimed,  turning  the  empty  flask  upside 
down.  At  once  the  Indian  passed  him  his  flask.  Raven, 
however,  waved  him  aside  and,  going  to  his  pack,  drew 
out  a  tin  oil  can  which  would  contain  about  a  gal- 
lon. From  this  with  great  deliberation  he  filled  his 
flask. 

"Huh!"  exclaimed  the  Indian,  pointing  to  the  can. 
"How  much?" 

Raven  shook  his  head.  "No  sell.  For  me,"  he  an- 
swered, tapping  himself  on  the  breast. 

"How  much?"  said  the  Indian  fiercely. 

Still  Raven  declined  to  sell. 


THE    DULL   BED    STAIN  353 

Swiftly  the  Indian  gathered  up  the  remaining  half  of 
his  pack  of  furs  and,  throwing  them  savagely  at  Raven's 
feet,  seized  the  can. 

Still  Haven  refused  to  let  it  go. 

At  this  point  the  soft  padding  of  a  loping  pony  was 
heard  coming  up  the  trail  and  in  a  few  minutes  Little 
Thunder  silently  took  his  place  in  the  circle  about  the 
fire.  Cameron's  heart  sank  within  him,  for  now  it  seemed 
as  if  his  chance  of  escape  had  slipped  from  him. 

Eaven  spoke  a  few  rapid  words  to  Little  Thunder, 
who  entered  into  conversation  with  the  Stonies.  At 
length  White  Cloud  drew  from  his  coat  a  black  fox  skin. 
In  spite  of  himself  Raven  uttered  a  slight  exclamation. 
It  was  indeed  a  superb  pelt.  With  savage  hate  in  every 
line  of  his  face  and  in  every  movement  of  his  body,  the 
Indian  flung  the  skin  upon  the  pile  of  furs  and  without 
a  "By  your  leave"  seized  the  can  and  passed  it  to  his 
brother. 

At  this  point  Raven,  with  a  sudden  display  of  reckless 
generosity,  placed  his  own  flask  upon  the  Indian's  pile 
of  goods. 

"Ask  them  if  they  want  molasses,"  said  Raven  to 
Little  Thunder. 

"No,"  grunted  the  Indian  contemptuously,  preparing 
to  depart. 

"Ask  them,  Little  Thunder." 

Immediately  as  Little  Thunder  began  to  speak  the 
contemptuous  attitude  of  the  Stonies  gave  place  to  one 
of  keen  interest  and  desire.  After  some  further  talk 
Little  Thunder  went  to  the  pack-pony,  returned  bear- 
ing a  small  keg  and  set  it  on  the  rock  beside  Raven's 
pile  of  furs.  Hastily  the  Stonies  consulted  together, 
White  Cloud  apparently  reluctant,  the  brother  reck- 
lessly eager  to  close  the  deal.  Finally  with  a  gesture 


354  CORPORAL    CAM  EBON 

White  Cloud  put  an  end  to  the  conversation,  stepped 
out  hastily  into  the  dark  and  returned  leading  his  pony 
into  the  light.  Cutting  asunder  the  lashings  with  his 
knife,  he  released  a  bundle  of  furs  and  threw  it  down 
at  Raven's  feet. 

"Same  ting.    Good  I"  he  said. 

But  Raven  would  not  look  at  the  bundle  and  pro- 
ceeded to  pack  up  the  spoils  of  his  barter.  Earnestly 
the  Stonies  appealed  to  Little  Thunder,  but  in  vain. 
Angrily  they  remonstrated,  but  still  without  result.  At 
length  Little  Thunder  pointed  to  the  pony  and  without 
hesitation  White  Cloud  placed  the  bridle  rein  in  his 
hands. 

Cameron  could  contain  himself  no  longer.  Suddenly 
rising  from  his  place  he  strode  to  the  side  of  the  Indians 
and  cried,  "Don't  do  it !  Don't  be  such  fools !  This  no 
good,"  he  said,  kicking  the  keg.  "What  would  Mr.  Mac- 
dougall  say?  Come!  I  go  with  you.  Take  back  these 
furs." 

He  stepped  forward  to  seize  the  second  pack.  Swiftly 
Little  Thunder  leaped  before  him,  knife  in  hand,  and 
crouched  to  spring.  The  Stonies  had  no  doubt  as  to 
his  meaning.  Their  hearts  were  filled  with  black  rage 
against  the  unscrupulous  trader,  but  their  insane  thirst 
for  the  "fire-water"  swept  from  their  minds  every  other 
consideration  but  that  of  determination  to  gratify  this 
mad  lust.  Unconsciously  they  ranged  themselves  be- 
side Cameron,  their  hands  going  to  their  belts.  Quietly 
Raven  spoke  a  few  rapid  words  to  Little  Thunder,  who, 
slowly  putting  up  his  knife,  made  a  brief  but  vigourous 
harangue  to  the  Stonies,  the  result  of  which  was  seen 
in  the  doubtful  glances  which  they  cast  upon  Cameron 
from  time  to  time. 

"Come  on!"  cried  Cameron  again,  laying  his  hand 


THE    DULL   BED    STAIN  355 

upon  the  nearest  Indian.  "Let's  go  to  your  camp.  Take 
your  furs.  He  is  a  thief,  a  robber,  a  bad  man.  All 
that,"  sweeping  his  hand  towards  Raven's  goods,  "no 
good.  This,"  kicking  the  keg,  "bad.  Kill  you." 

These  words  they  could  not  entirely  understand,  but 
his  gestures  were  sufficiently  eloquent  and  significant. 
There  was  an  ugly  gleam  in  Eaven's  eyes  and  an  ugly 
curl  to  his  thin  lips,  but  he  only  smiled. 

"Come,"  he  said,  waving  his  hand  toward  the  furs, 
"take  them  away.  Tell  them  we  don't  want  to  trade, 
Little  Thunder."  He  pulled  out  his  flask,  slowly  took 
a  drink,  and  passed  it  to  Little  Thunder,  who  greedily 
followed  his  example.  "Tell  them  we  don't  want  to 
trade  at  all,"  insisted  Eaven. 

Little  Thunder  volubly  explained  the  trader's  wishes. 

"Good-bye,"  said  Eaven,  offering  his  hand  to  White 
Cloud.  "Good  friends,"  he  added,  once  more  passing 
him  his  flask. 

"Don't!"  said  Cameron,  laying  his  hand  again  upon 
the  Indian's  arm.  For  a  single  instant  White  Cloud 
paused. 

"Huh!"  grunted  Little  Thunder  in  contempt.  "Big 
chief  scared." 

Quickly  the  Stony  shook  off  Cameron's  hand,  seized 
the  flask  and,  putting  it  to  his  lips,  drained  it  dry. 

"Come,"  said  Cameron  to  the  other  Stony.  "Come 
with  me." 

Eaven  uttered  a  warning  word  to  Little  Thunder.  The 
Indians  stood  for  some  moments  uncertain,  their  heads 
bowed  upon  their  breasts.  Then  White  Cloud,  throwing 
back  his  head  and  looking  Cameron  full  in  the  face,  said 
— "Good  man.  Good  man.  Me  no  go." 

"Then  I  go  alone,"  cried  Cameron,  springing  off  into 
the  darkness. 


356  CORPOKAL    CAMERON 

As  he  turned  his  foot  caught  the  pile  of  wood  brought 
for  the  fire.  He  tripped  and  stumbled  almost  to  the 
ground.  Before  he  could  recover  himself  Little  Thunder, 
swift  as  a  wildcat,  leaped  upon  his  back  with  his  ever- 
ready  knife  in  his  upraised  hand,  but  before  he  could 
strike,  Cameron  had  turned  himself  and  throwing  the 
Indian  off  had  struggled  to  his  feet. 

"Hold  there !"  cried  Raven  with  a  terrible  oath,  fling- 
ing himself  upon  the  struggling  pair. 

A  moment  or  two  the  Stonies  hesitated,  then  they 
too  seized  Cameron  and  between  them  all  they  bore  him 
fighting  to  the  ground. 

"Keep  back !  Keep  back !"  cried  Raven  in  a  terrible 
voice  to  Little  Thunder,  who,  knife  in  hand,  was  dancing 
round,  seeking  an  opportunity  to  strike.  "Will  you  lie 
still,  or  shall  I  knock  your  head  in?"  said  Raven  to  Cam- 
eron through  his  clenched  teeth,  with  one  hand  on  his 
throat  and  the  other  poising  a  revolver  over  his  head. 
Cameron  gave  up  the  struggle. 

"Speak  and  quick!"  cried  Raven,  his  face  working 
with  passion,  his  voice  thick  and  husky,  his  breath  com- 
ing in  quick  gasps  from  the  fury  that  possessed  him. 

"All  right,"  said  Cameron.  "Let  me  up.  You  have 
beaten  me  this  time." 

Raven  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"Let  him  up!"  he  said.  "Now,  then,  Cameron,  give 
me  your  word  you  won't  try  to  escape." 

"No,  I  will  not !  I'll  see  you  hanged  first,"  said  Cam- 
eron. 

Raven  deliberately  drew  his  pistol  and  said  slowly : 

"I  have  saved  your  life  twice  already,  but  the  time  is 
past  for  any  more  trifling.  Now  you've  got  to  take  it." 

At  this  Little  Thunder  spoke  a  word,  pointing  toward 
the  camp  of  the  Stonies.  Raven  hesitated,  then  with 


THE    DULL   KED    STAIN  357 

an  oath  lie  strode  toward  Cameron  and  thrusting  his 
pistol  in  his  face  said  in  tones  of  cold  and  concentrated 
rage : 

"Listen  to  me,  you  fool!  Your  life  is  hanging  by  a 
hair  trigger  that  goes  off  with  a  feather  touch.  I  give 
you  one  more  chance.  Move  hand  or  foot  and  the  bullet 
in  this  gun  will  pass  neatly  through  your  eye.  So  help 
me  God  Almighty !" 

He  spoke  to  Little  Thunder,  still  keeping  Cameron 
covered  with  his  gun.  The  Indian  slipped  quietly  be- 
hind Cameron  and  swiftly  threw  a  line  over  his  shoul- 
ders and,  drawing  it  tight,  bound  his  arms  to  his  side. 
Again  and  again  he  repeated  this  operation  till  Cameron 
stood  swathed  in  the  coils  of  the  rope  like  a  mummy, 
inwardly  raging,  not  so  much  at  his  captor,  but  at  him- 
self and  his  stupid  bungling  of  his  break  for  liberty. 
His  helpless  and  absurd  appearance  seemed  to  restore 
Raven's  good  humour. 

"Now,  then,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  Stonies  and 
resuming  his  careless  air,  "we  will  finish  our  little  busi- 
ness. Sit  down,  Mr.  Cameron,"  he  continued,  with  a 
pleasant  smile.  "It  may  be  less  dignified,  but  it  is  much 
more  comfortable." 

Once  more  he  took  out  his  flask  and  passed  it  round, 
forgetting  to  take  it  back  from  his  Indian  visitors,  who 
continued  to  drink  from  it  in  turn. 

"Listen,"  he  said.  "I  give  you  all  you  see  here  for  your 
furs  and  a  pony  to  pack  them.  That  is  my  last  word. 
Quick,  yes  or  no?  Tell  them  no  more  trifling,  Little 
Thunder.  The  moon  is  high.  We  start  in  ten  minutes." 

There  was  no  further  haggling.  The  Indians  seemed 
to  recognise  that  the  time  for  that  was  past.  After  a  brief 
consultation  they  grunted  their  acceptance  and  pro- 
ceeded to  pack  up  their  goods,  but  with  no  good  will. 


358  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

More  vividly  than  any  in  the  company  they  realised  the 
immensity  of  the  fraud  that  was  being  perpetrated  upon 
them.  They  were  being  robbed  of  their  whole  winter's 
kill  and  that  of  some  of  their  friends  as  well,  but  they 
were  helpless  in  the  grip  of  their  mad  passion  for  the 
trader's  fire-water.  Disgusted  with  themselves  and 
filled  with  black  rage  against  the  man  who  had  so  piti- 
lessly stripped  them  bare  of  the  profits  of  a  year's  toil 
and  privation,  how  gladly  would  they  have  put  their 
knives  into  his  back,  but  they  knew  his  sort  by  only  too 
bitter  experience  and  they  knew  that  at  his  hands  they 
need  expect  no  pity. 

"Here,"  cried  Raven,  observing  their  black  looks.  "A 
present  for  my  brothers."  He  handed  them  each  a  roll 
of  tobacco.  "And  a  present  for  their  squaws,"  adding  a 
scarlet  blanket  apiece  to  their  pack. 

Without  a  word  of  thanks  they  took  the  gifts  and, 
loading  their  stuff  upon  their  remaining  pony,  disap- 
peared down  the  trail. 

"Now,  Little  Thunder,  let's  get  out  of  this,  for  once 
their  old  man  finds  out  he  will  be  hot  foot  on  our  trail." 

With  furious  haste  they  fell  to  their  packing.  Cam- 
eron stood  aghast  at  the  amazing  swiftness  and  dexterity 
with  which  the  packs  were  roped  and  loaded.  When  all 
was  complete  the  trader  turned  to  Cameron  in  gay  good 
humour. 

"Now,  Mr.  Cameron,  will  you  go  passenger  or 
freight?"  Cameron  made  no  reply.  "In  other  words, 
shall  we  pack  you  on  your  pony  or  will  you  ride  like  a 
gentleman,  giving  me  your  word  not  to  attempt  to 
escape?  Time  presses,  so  answer  quick !  Give  me 
twenty-four  hours.  Give  me  your  word  for  twenty-four 
hours,  after  which  you  can  go  when  you  like." 

"I  agree,"  said  Cameron  shortly. 


THE    DULL    BED    STAIN  359 

"Cut  him  loose,  Little  Thunder."  Little  Thunder 
hesitated.  "Quick,  you  fool !  Cut  him  loose.  I  know  a 
gentleman  when  I  see  him.  He  is  tied  tighter  than  with 
ropes." 

"It  is  a  great  pity,"  he  continued,  addressing  Cameron 
in  a  pleasant  conversational  tone  as  they  rode  down  the 
trail  together,  "that  you  should  have  made  an  ass  of 
yourself  for  those  brutes.  Bah!  What  odds?  Old  Mac- 
dougall  or  some  one  else  would  get  their  stuff  sooner  or 
later.  Why  not  I  ?  Come,  cheer  up.  You  are  jolly  well 
out  of  it,  for,  God  knows,  you  may  live  to  look  death 
in  the  face  many  a  time,  but  never  while  you  live  will 
you  be  so  near  touching  the  old  sport  as  you  were  a  few 
minutes  ago.  Why  I  have  interfered  to  save  you  these 
three  times  blessed  if  I  know!  Many  a  man's  bones 
have  been  picked  by  the  coyotes  in  these  hills  for  a 
fraction  of  the  provocation  you  have  given  me,  not  to 
speak  of  Little  Thunder,  who  is  properly  thirsting  for 
your  blood.  But  take  advice  from  me,"  here  he  leaned 
over  towards  Cameron  and  touched  him  on  the  shoulder, 
while  his  voice  took  a  sterner  tone,  "don't  venture  on 
any  further  liberties  with  him." 

Suddenly  Cameron's  rage  blazed  forth. 

"Now  perhaps  you  will  listen  to  me,"  he  said  in  a 
voice  thrilling  with  passion.  "First  of  all,  keep  your 
hands  off  me.  As  for  your  comrade  and  partner  in 
crime,  I  fear  him  no  more  than  I  would  a  dog  and  like 
a  dog  I  shall  treat  him  if  he  dares  to  attack  me  again. 
As  for  you,  you  are  a  coward  and  a  cad.  You  have  me 
at  a  disadvantage.  But  put  down  your  guns  and  fight 
me  on  equal  terms,  and  I  will  make  you  beg  for  your 
life!" 

There  was  a  gleam  of  amused  admiration  in  Kaven's 
eyes. 


360  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

"By  Jove!  It  would  be  a  pretty  fight,  I  do  believe, 
and  one  I  should  greatly  enjoy.  At  present,  however, 
time  is  pressing  and  therefore  that  pleasure  we  must 
postpone.  Meantime  I  promise  you  that  when  it  comes 
it  will  be  on  equal  terms." 

"I  ask  no  more,"  said  Cameron. 

There  was  no  further  conversation,  for  Raven  ap- 
peared intent  on  putting  as  large  a  space  as  possible 
between  himself  and  the  camp  of  the  Stonies.  The  dis- 
covery of  the  fraud  he  knew  would  be  inevitable  and  he 
knew,  too,  that  George  Macdougall  was  not  the  man  to 
allow  his  flock  to  be  fleeced  with  impunity. 

So  before  the  grey  light  of  morning  began  to  steal 
over  the  mountaintops  Raven,  with  his  bunch  of  ponies 
and  his  loot,  was  many  miles  forward  on  his  journey. 
But  the  endurance  even  of  bronchos  and  cayuses  has  its 
limit,  and  their  desperate  condition  from  hunger  and 
fatigue  rendered  food  and  rest  imperative. 

The  sun  was  fully  up  when  Raven  ordered  a  halt,  and 
in  a  sunny  valley,  deep  with  grass,  unsaddling  the 
wearied  animals,  he  turned  them  loose  to  feed  and  rest. 
Apparently  careless  of  danger  and  highly  contented  with 
their  night's  achievement,  he  and  his  Indian  partner 
abandoned  themselves  to  sleep.  Cameron,  too,  though 
his  indignation  and  chagrin  prevented  sleep  for  a  time, 
was  finally  forced  to  yield  to  the  genial  influences  of  the 
warm  sun  and  the  languid  airs  of  the  spring  day,  and, 
firmly  resolving  to  keep  awake,  he  fell  into  dreamless 
slumber. 

The  sun  was  riding  high  noon  when  he  was  awakened 
by  a  hand  upon  his  arm.  It  was  Raven. 

"Hush !"  he  said.    "Not  a  word.    Mount  and  quick !" 

Looking  about  Cameron  observed  that  the  pack  horses 
were  ready  loaded  and  Raven  standing  by  his  broncho 


THE    DULL    BED    STAIN  361 

ready  to  mount.  Little  Thunder  was  nowhere  to  be 
se.en. 

"What's  up?"  said  Cameron. 

For  answer  Raven  pointed  up  the  long  sloping  trail 
down  which  they  had  come.  There  three  horsemen  could 
be  seen  riding  hard,  but  still  distant  more  than  half  a 
mile.  » 

"Saw  them  three  miles  away,  luckily  enough,"  said 
Raven. 

"Where's  Little  Thunder?"  enquired  Cameron. 

"Oh,  rounding  up  the  bunch,"  answered  Raven  care- 
lessly, waving  his  hand  toward  the  valley.  "Those  men 
are  coming  some,"  he  added,  swinging  into  his  saddle. 

As  he  spoke  a  rifle  shot  shattered  the  stillness  of  the 
valley.  The  first  of  the  riders  threw  up  his  hands, 
clutched  wildly  at  the  vacant  air  and  pitched  headlong 
out  of  the  saddle.  "Good  God!  What's  that?"  gasped 
Cameron.  The  other  two  wheeled  in  their  course.  Be- 
fore they  could  turn  a  second  shot  rang  out  and  another 
of  the  riders  feil  upon  his  horse's  neck,  clung  there  for 
a  moment,  then  gently  slid  to  the  ground.  The  third, 
throwing  himself  over  the  side  of  his  pony,  rode  back  for 
dear  life. 

A  third  and  a  fourth  shot  were  heard,  but  the  fleeing 
rider  escaped  unhurt. 

"What  does  that  mean?"  again  asked  Cameron,  weak 
and  sick  with  horror. 

"Mount!"  yelled  Raven  with  a  terrible  oath  and 
flourishing  a  revolver  in  his  hand.  "Mount  quick !"  His 
face  was  pale,  his  eyes  burned  with  a  fierce  glare,  while 
his  voice  rang  with  the  blast  of  a  bugle. 

"Lead  those  pack  horses  down  that  trail !"  he  yelled, 
thrusting  the  line  into  Cameron's  hand.  "Quick,  I  tell 
you !" 


362  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

"Crack-crack!"  Twice  a  bullet  sang  savagely  past 
Cameron's  ears. 

"Quicker!"  shouted  Eaven,  circling  round  the  bunch 
of  ponies  with  wild  cries  and  oaths  like  a  man  gone  mad. 
Again  and  again  the  revolver  spat  wickedly  and  here 
and  there  a  pony  plunged  recklessly  forward,  nicked  in 
the  ear  by  one  of  those  venomous  singing  pellets.  Help- 
less to  defend  himself  and  expecting  every  moment  to 
feel  the  sting  of  a  bullet  somewhere  in  his  body,  Cameron 
hurried  his  pony  with  all  his  might  down  the  trail,  drag- 
ging the  pack  animals  after  him.  In  huddled  confusion 
the  terrified  brutes  followed  after  him  in  a  mad  rush, 
for  hard  upon  their  rear,  like  a  beast  devil-possessed, 
Nighthawk  pressed,  biting,  kicking,  squealing,  to  the 
accompaniment  of  his  rider's  oaths  and  yells  and  pistol 
shots.  Down  the  long  sloping  trail  to  the  very  end  of 
the  valley  the  mad  rush  continued.  There  the  ascent 
checked  the  fury  of  the  speed  and  forced  a  quieter  pace. 
But  through  the  afternoon  there  wTas  no  weakening  of 
the  pressure  from  the  renr  till  the  evening  shadows  and 
the  frequent  falling  of  the  worn-out  beasts  forced  a 
slackening  of  the  pace  and  finally  a  halt. 

Sick  writh  horror  and  loathing,  Cameron  dis- 
mounted and  unsaddled  his  broncho.  He  had  hardly 
finished  this  operation  wrhen  Little  Thunder  rode  up 
upon  a  strange  pony,  leading  a  beautiful  white  broncho 
behind.  Cameron  could  not  repress  an  exclamation  of 
disgust  as  the  Indian  drew  near  him. 

"Beautiful  beast  that,"  said  Haven  carelessly,  point- 
ing to  the  white  pony. 

Cameron  turned  his  eyes  upon  the  pony  and  stood 
transfixed  with  horror. 

"My  God!"  he  exclaimed.  "Look  at  that!"  Across 
the  beautiful  white  shoulders  and  reaching  down  clear 


THE    DULL    KED    STAIN  363 

to  the  fetlock  there  ran  a  broad  stain,  dull  red  and  hor- 
rible. Then  through  his  teeth,  hard  clenched  together, 
these  words  came  forth:  "Some  day,  by  God's  help,  I 
shall  wipe  out  that  stain." 

The  trader  shrugged  his  shoulders  carelessly,  but  made 
no  reply. 


364 


CHAPTER  V 

SERGEANT  CRISP 

THE  horror  of  the  day  followed  Cameron  through 
the  night  and  awoke  with  him  next  morning. 
Every  time  his  eyes  found  the  Indian  his  teeth 
came  together  in  a  grinding  rage  as  he  repeated  his 
vow,  "Some  day  I  shall  bring  you  to  justice.  So  help  me 
God!" 

Against  Raven  somehow  he  could  not  maintain  the 
same  heat  of  rage.  That  he  was  a  party  to  the  murder 
of  the  Stonies  there  was  little  reason  to  doubt,  but  as 
all  next  day  they  lay  in  the  sunny  glade  resting  the 
ponies,  or  went  loping  easily  along  the  winding  trails 
making  ever  towards  the  Southwest,  the  trader's  cheer- 
ful face,  his  endless  tales,  and  his  invincible  good 
humour  stole  from  Cameron's  heart,  in  spite  of  his  firm 
resolve,  the  fierceness  of  his  wrath.  But  the  resolve  was 
none  the  less  resolute  that  one  day  he  would  bring  this 
man  to  justice. 

As  they  journeyed  on,  the  woods  became  more  open 
and  the  trees  larger.  Mid-day  found  them  resting  by 
a  little  lake,  from  which  a  stream  flowed  into  the  upper 
reaches  .of  the  Columbia  River. 

"We  shall  make  the  Crow's  Nest  trail  by  to-morrow 
night,"  said  Raven,  "where  we  shall  part;  not  to  your 
very  great  sorrow,  I  fancy,  either." 

The  evening  before  Cameron  would  have  said,  "No, 
but  to  my  great  joy,"  and  it  vexed  him  that  he  could 
not  bring  himself  to  say  so  to-day  with  any  great  show 
of  sincerity.  There  was  a  charm  about  this  man  that  he 
could  not  resist. 

"And  yet,"  continued  Raven,  allowing  his  eyes  to 


SERGEANT    CRISP  365 

rest  dreamily  upon  the  lake,  "in  other  circumstances 
I  might  have  found  in  you  an  excellent  friend,  and  a 
most  rare  and  valuable  find  that  is." 

"That  it  is !"  agreed  Cameron,  thinking  of  his  old  foot- 
ball captain,  "but  one  cannot  make  friends  with  a — ' 

"It  is  an  ugly  word,  I  know,"  said  Haven.  "But. 
after  all,  what  is  a  bunch  of  furs  more  or  less  to  those 
Indians?" 

"Furs?"  exclaimed  Cameron  in  horror.  "What  are 
the  lives  of  these  men?" 

"Oh,"  replied  Raven  carelessly,  "these  Indians  are 
always  getting  killed  one  way  or  another.  It  is  all  in 
the  day's  work  with  them.  They  pick  each  other  off 
without  query  or  qualm.  Besides,  Little  Thunder  has 
a  grudge  of  very  old  standing  against  the  Stonies, 
whom  he  heartily  despises,  and  he  doubtless  enjoys  con- 
siderable satisfaction  from  the  thought  that  he  has 
partially  paid  it.  It  will  be  his  turn  next,  like  as  not, 
for  they  won't  let  this  thing  sleep.  Or  perhaps  mine !" 
he  added  after  a  pause.  "The  man  is  doubtless  on  the 
trail  at  this  present  minute  who  will  finally  get  me." 

"Then  why  expose  yourself  to  such  a  fate?"  said 
Cameron.  "Surely  in  this  country  a  man  can  live  an 
honest  life  and  prosper." 

"Honest  life?  I  doubt  it!  What  is  an  honest  life? 
Does  any  Indian  trader  lead  an  honest  life?  Do  the 
Hudson  Bay  traders,  or  I.  G.  Baker's  people,  or  any  of 
them  do  the  honest  thing  by  the  Indian  they  trade  with? 
In  the  long  run  it  is  a  question  of  the  police.  What 
escapes  the  police  is  honest.  The  crime,  after  all,  is 
in  getting  caught." 

"Oh,  that  is  too  old!"  said  Cameron.  "You  know 
you  are  talking  rot." 

"Quite  right !    It  is  rot,"  assented  Raven.    "The  whole 


366  CORPOKAL    CAMERON 

business  is  rot.  'Vanity  of  vanities,  saith  the  preacher.' 
Oh,  I  know  the  Book,  you  see.  I  was  not  born  a — a — an 
outlaw."  The  grey-brown  eyes  had  in  them  a  wistful 
look.  "Bah!"  he  exclaimed,  springing  to  his  feet  and 
shaking  himself.  "The  sight  of  your  Edinburgh  face 
and  the  sound  of  your  Edinburgh  speech  and  your  old 
country  ways  and  manners  have  got  on  my  recollection 
works,  and  I  believe  that  accounts  for  you  being  alive 
to-day,  old  man." 

He  whistled  to  his  horse,  Nighthawk  came  trotting 
and  whinneying  to  him. 

"I  have  one  friend  in  the  world,  old  boy,"  he  said, 
throwing  his  arm  over  the  black,  glossy  neck  and 
searching  his  pocket  for  a  biscuit.  "And  even  you," 
he  added  bitterly,  "I  fear  do  not  love  me  for  naught." 

Saddling  his  horse,  he  mounted  and  calling  Little 
Thunder  to  him  said: 

"Take  the  bunch  on  as  far  as  the  Big  Canyon  and  wait 
there  for  me.  I  am  going  back  a  bit.  It  is  better  to  be 
sure  than  sorry.  Cameron,  your  best  route  lies  with 
us.  Your  twenty-four  hours'  parole  is  already  up. 
To-morrow,  perhaps  to-night,  I  shall  put  you  on  the 
Macleod  trail.  You  are  a  free  man,  but  don't  try  to 
make  any  breaks  when  I  am  gone.  My  friend  here  is 
extremely  prompt  with  his  weapons.  Farewell!  Get 
a  move  on,  Little  Thunder!  Cameron  will  bring  up 
the  rear." 

He  added  some  further  words  in  the  Indian  tongue, 
his  voice  taking  a  stern  tone.  Little  Thunder  grunted 
a  surly  and  unwilling  acquiescence,  and,  waving  his 
hand  to  Cameron,  the  trader  wheeled  his  horse  up  the 
trail. 

In  spite  of  himself  Cameron  could  not  forbear  a  feel- 
ing of  pity  and  admiration  as  he  watched  the  lithe,  up- 


SERGEANT    CRISP  367 

right  figure  swaying  up  the  trail,  his  every  movement 
in  unison  with  that  of  the  beautiful  demon  he  bestrode. 
But  with  all  his  pity  and  admiration  he  was  none  the 
less  resolved  that  he  would  do  what  in  him  lay  to  bring 
these  two  to  justice. 

"This  ugly  devil  at  least  shall  swing  V  he  said  to  him- 
self as  he  turned  his  eyes  upon  Little  Thunder  getting 
his  pack  ponies  out  upon  the  trail.  This  accomplished, 
the  Indian,  pointing  onward,  said  gruffly, 

"You  go  in  front — me  back." 

"Not  much !"  cried  Cameron.  "You  heard  the  orders 
from  your  chief.  You  go  in  front.  I  bring  up  the  rear. 
I  do  not  know  the  trail." 

"Huh!  Trail  good,"  grunted  Little  Thunder,  the 
red-rimmed  eyes  gleaming  malevolently.  "You  go  front 
—me  back."  He  waved  his  hand  impatiently  toward 
the  trail.  Following  the  direction  of  his  hand,  Cam- 
eron's eyes  fell  upon  the  stock  of  his  own  rifle  protrud- 
ing from  a  pack  upon  one  of  the  ponies.  For  a  moment 
the  protruding  stock  held  his  eyes  fascinated. 

"Huh!"  said  the  Indian,  noting  Cameron's  glance, 
and  slipping  off  his  pony.  In  an  instant  both  men  were 
racing  for  the  pack  and  approaching  each  other  at  a 
sharp  angle.  Arrived  at  striking  distance,  the  Indian 
leaped  at  Cameron,  with  his  knife,  as  was  his  wont, 
ready  to  strike. 

The  appearance  of  the  Indian  springing  at  him  seemed 
to  set  some  of  the  grey  matter  in  Cameron's  brain  mov- 
ing along  old  tracks.  Like  a  flash  he  dropped  to  his 
knees  in  an  old  football  tackle,  caught  the  Indian  by 
the  legs  and  tossed  him  high  over  his  shoulders,  then, 
springing  to  his  feet,  he  jerked  the  rifle  free  from  the 
pack  and  stood  waiting  for  Little  Thunder's  attack. 

But  the  Indian  lay  without  sound  or  motion.     Cam- 


368  COKPOKAL    CAMERON 

eron  used  his  opportunity  to  look  for  Ms  cartridge  belt, 
which,  after  a  few  minutes7  anxious  search,  he  discov- 
ered in  the  pack.  He  buckled  the  belt  about  him,  made 
sure  his  Winchester  held  a  shell,  and  stood  waiting. 

That  he  should  be  waiting  thus  with  the  deliberate 
purpose  of  shooting  down  a  fellow  human  being  filled 
him  with  a  sense  of  unreality.  But  the  events  of  the 
last  forty-eight  hours  had  created  an  entirely  new  en- 
vironment, and  with  extraordinary  facilitj"  his  mind 
had  adjusted  itself  to  this  environment,  and  though  two 
days  before  he  would  have  shrunk  in  horror  from  the 
possibility  of  taking  a  human  life,  he  knew  as  he  stood 
there  that  at  the  first  sign  of  attack  he  should  shoot  the 
Indian  down  like  a  wild  beast. 

Slowly  Little  Thunder  raised  himself  to  a  sitting 
posture  and  looked  about  in  dazed  surprise.  As  his  mind 
regained  its  normal  condition  there  deepened  in  his  eyes 
a  look  of  cunning  hatred.  With  difficulty  he  rose  to 
his  feet  and  stood  facing  Cameron.  Cameron  waited 
quietly,  watching  his  every  move. 

"You  go  in  front!"  at  length  commanded  Cameron. 
"And  no  nonsense,  mind  you,"  he  added,  tapping  his 
rifle,  "or  I  shoot  quick." 

The  Indian  might  not  have  understood  all  Cameron's 
words,  but  he  was  in  no  doubt  as  to  his  meaning.  It  was 
characteristic  of  his  race  that  he  should  know  when  he 
was  beaten  and  stoically  accept  defeat  for  the  time 
being.  Without  further  word  or  look  he  led  off  his 
pack  ponies,  while  Cameron  took  his  place  at  the  rear. 

But  progress  was  slow.  Little  Thunder  was  either 
incapable  of  rapid  motion  or  sullenly  indifferent  to  any 
necessity  for  it.  Besides,  there  was  no  demoniacal 
dynamic  forcing  the  beasts  on  from  the  rear.  They  had 
not  been  more  than  three  hours  on  the  trail  when 


SERGEANT    CRISP  369 

Cameron  heard  behind  him  the  thundering  of  hoofs. 
Glancing  over  his  shoulder,  he  saw  coming  down  upon 
him  Raven,  riding  as  if  pursued  by  a  thousand  demons. 
The  condition  of  his  horse  showed  that  the  race  had  been 
long  and  hard;  his  black  satin  skin  was  dripping  as 
if  he  had  come  through  a  river,  his  eyes  were  bloodshot 
and  starting  from  his  head,  his  mouth  was  wide  open 
and  from  it  in  large  clots  the  foam  had  fallen  upon  his 
neck  and  chest. 

Past  Cameron  and  down  upon  Little  Thunder  Raven 
rushed  like  a  whirlwind,  yelling  with  wild  oaths  the 
while, 

"Get  on !  Get  on !  What  are  you  loafing  about  here 
for?" 

A  few  vehement  directions  to  the  Indian  and  he  came 
thundering  back  upon  Cameron. 

"What  have  you  been  doing?"  he  cried  with  an  oath. 
"Why  are  you  not  miles  on?  Get  on!  Move!  Move!! 
Move ! ! !"  At  every  yell  he  hurled  his  frenzied  broncho 
upon  the  ponies  which  brought  up  the  rear,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  had  the  whole  cavalcade  madly  careering  down 
the  sloping  trail.  Wilder  and  wilder  grew  the  pace. 
Turning  a  sharp  corner  round  a  jutting  rock  a  pack  pony 
stumbled  and  went  crashing  fifty  feet  to  the  rock  below. 
"On!  On!"  yelled  Raven,  emptying  his  gun  into  the 
struggling  animal  as  he  passed.  More  and  more  diffi- 
cult became  the  road  until  at  length  it  was  impossible 
to  keep  up  the  pace. 

"We  cannot  make  it!  We  cannot  make  it!"  muttered 
Raven  with  bitter  oaths.  "Oh,  the  cursed  fools!  An- 
other two  miles  would  do  it !" 

At  length  they  came  to  a  spot  where  the  trail  touched 
a  level  bench. 

"Halt !"  yelled  the  trader,  as  he  galloped  to  the  head 


370  COBPOKAL    CAMERON 

of  the  column.  A  few  minutes  he  spent  in  rapid  and 
fierce  consultation  with  Little  Thunder  and  then  came 
raging  back.  "We  are  going  to  get  this  bunch  down  into 
the  valley  there,"  he  shouted,  pointing  to  the  thick 
timber  at  the  bottom.  "I  do  not  expect  your  help, 
but  I  ask  you  to  remain  where  you  are  for  the 
present.  And  let  me  assure  you  this  is  no  moment 
for  trifling." 

With  extraordinary  skill  and  rapidity  Little  Thunder 
managed  to  lead  first  the  pack  ponies  and  then  the 
others,  one  by  one,  at  intervals,  off  the  trail  as  they  went 
onward,  taking  infinite  pains  to  cover  their  tracks  at 
the  various  points  of  departure.  While  this  was  being 
done  the  trader  stood  shouting  directions  and  giving 
assistance  with  a  fury  of  energy  that  seemed  to  com- 
municate itself  to  the  very  beasts.  But  the  work  was 
one  of  great  difficulty  and  took  many  minutes  to  ac- 
complish. 

"Half  an  hour  more,  just  half  an  hour!  Fifteen 
minutes !"  he  kept  muttering.  "Just  a  short  fifteen  min- 
utes and  all  would  be  well." 

As  the  last  pony  disappeared  into  the  woods  Haven 
turned  to  Cameron  and  with  a  smile  said  quietly, 

"There,  that's  done.  Now  you  are  free.  Here  we 
part.  This  is  your  trail.  It  will  take  you  to  Macleod. 
I  am  sorry,  however,  that  owing  to  a  change  in  cir- 
cumstances for  which  I  am  not  responsible  I  must  ask 
you  for  that  rifle."  With  the  swiftness  of  a  flash  of 
light  he  whipped  his  gun  into  Cameron's  face.  "Don't 
move!"  he  said,  still  smiling.  "This  gun  of  mine  never 
fails.  Quick,  don't  look  round.  Yes,  those  hoof  beats 
are  our  friends  the  police.  Quick!  It  is  your  life  or 
mine.  I'd  hate  to  kill  you,  Cameron.  I  give  you  one 
chance  more." 


SERGEANT    CRISP  371 

There  was  no  help  for  it,  and  Cameron,  with  his  heart 
filled  with  futile  fury,  surrendered  his  rifle. 

"Now  ride  in  front  of  me  a  little  way.  They  have 
just  seen  us,  but  they  don't  know  that  we  are  aware 
of  their  presence.  Ride!  Ride!  A  little  faster!" 
Nighthawk  rushed  upon  Cameron's  lagging  pony. 
"There,  that's  better." 

A  shout  fell  upon  their  ears. 

"Go  right  along!"  said  Raven  quietly.  "Only  a  few 
minutes  longer,  then  we  part.  I  have  greatly  enjoyed 
your  company." 

Another  shout. 

"Aha!"  said  Raven,  glancing  round.  "It  is,  I  verily 
believe  it  is  my  old  friend  Sergeant  Crisp.  Only  two 
of  them,  by  Jove !  If  we  had  only  known  we  need  not 
have  hurried." 

Another  shout,  followed  by  a  bullet  that  sang  over 
their  heads. 

"Ah,  this  is  interesting — too  interesting  by  half! 
Well,  here  goes  for  you,  sergeant!"  He  wheeled  as  he 
spoke.  Turning  swiftly  in  his  saddle,  Cameron  saw  him 
raise  his  rifle. 

"Hold  up,  you  devil !"  he  shouted,  throwing  his  pony 
across  the  black  broncho's  track. 

The  rifle  rang  out,  the  police  horse  staggered,  swayed, 
and  pitched  to  the  earth,  bringing  his  rider  down  with 
him. 

"Ah,  Cameron,  that  was  awkward  of  you,"  said 
Raven  gently.  "However,  it  is  perhaps  as  well.  Good- 
bye, old  man.  Tell  the  sergeant  not  to  follow.  Trails 
hereabout  are  dangerous  and  good  police  sergeants  are 
scarce.  Again  farewell."  He  swung  his  broncho  off 
the  trail  and,  waving  his  hand,  with  a  smile,  disap- 
peared into  the  thick  underbrush. 


372  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

"Hold  up  your  hands!"  shouted  the  police  officer, 
who  had  struggled  upright  and  was  now  swaying  on 
his  feet  and  covering  Cameron  with  his  carbine. 

"Hurry!  Hurry!"  cried  Cameron,  springing  from 
his  pony  and  waving  his  hands  wildly  in  the  air.  "Come 
on.  You'll  get  him  yet." 

"Stand  where  you  are  and  hold  up  your  hands!" 
cried  the  sergeant. 

Cameron  obeyed,  shouting  meanwhile  wrathf ully,  "Oh, 
come  on,  you  bally  fool!  You  are  losing  him.  Come 
on,  I  tell  you!" 

"Keep  your  hands  up  or  I  shoot!"  cried  the  sergeant 
sternly. 

"All  right,"  said  Cameron,  holding  his  hands  high, 
"but  for  God's  sake  hurry  up!"  He  ran  towards  the 
sergeant  as  he  spoke,  with  his  hands  still  above  his 
head. 

"Halt !"  shouted  the  sergeant,  as  Cameron  came  near. 
"Constable  Burke,  arrest  that  man!" 

"Oh,  come,  get  it  over,"  cried  Cameron  in  a  fury  of 
passion.  "Arrest  me,  of  course,  but  if  you  want  to 
catch  that  chap  you'll  have  to  hurry.  He  cannot  be  far 
away." 

"Ah,  indeed,  my  man,"  said  the  sergeant  pleasantly. 
"He  is  not  far  away?" 

"No,  he's  a  murderer  and  a  thief  and  you  can  catch 
him  if  you  hurry." 

"Ah!  Very  good,  very  good!  Constable  Burke,  tie 
this  man  up  to  your  saddle  and  we'll  take  a  look  round. 
How  many  might  there  be  in  your  gang?"  enquired  the 
sergeant.  "Tell  the  truth  now.  It  will  be  the  better  for 
you." 

"One,"  said  Cameron  impatiently.  "A  chap  calling 
himself  Raven." 


SERGEANT    CRISP  373 

"Raven,  eh?"  exclaimed  Sergeant  Crisp  with  a  new 
interest.  "Raven,  by  Jove!" 

"Yes,  and  an  Indian.    Little  Thunder  he  called  him." 

"Little  Thunder !  Jove,  what  a  find !"  exclaimed  the 
sergeant. 

"Yes,"  continued  Cameron  eagerly.  "Raven  is  just 
ahead  in  the  woods  there  alone  and  the  Indian  is  fur- 
ther back  with  a  bunch  of  ponies  down  in  the  river 
bottom." 

"Oh,  indeed!  Very  interesting!  And  so  Raven  is 
all  alone  in  the  scrub  there,  waiting  doubtless  to  give 
himself  up,"  said  Sergeant  Crisp  with  fine  sarcasm. 
"Well,  we  are  not  yet  on  to  your  game,  young  man,  but 
we  will  not  just  play  up  to  that  lead  yet  a  while." 

In  vain  Cameron  raged  and  pleaded  and  stormed  and 
swore,  telling  his  story  in  incoherent  snatches,  to  the 
intense  amusement  of  Sergeant  Crisp  and  his  compan- 
ion. At  length  Cameron  desisted,  swallowing  his  rage 
as  best  he  could. 

"Now  then,  we  shall  move  on.  The  pass  is  not  more 
than  an  hour  away.  We  will  put  this  young  man  in 
safe  keeping  and  return  for  Mr.  Raven  and  his  inter- 
esting friend."  For  a  moment  he  stood  looking  down 
upon  his  horse.  "Poor  old  chap!"  he  said.  "We  have 
gone  many  a  mile  together  on  Her  Majesty's  errands. 
If  I  have  done  my  duty  as  faithfully  as  you  have  done 
yours  I  need  not  fear  my  record.  Take  his  saddle  and 
bridle  off,  Burke.  We've  got  one  of  the  gang.  Some 
day  we  shall  come  up  with  Mr.  Raven  himself." 

"Yes,"  said  Cameron  with  passionate  bitterness. 
"And  that  might  be  to-day  if  you  had  only  listened  to 
me.  Why,  man,"  he  shouted  with  reviving  rage,  "we 
three  could  take  him  even  yet!" 

"Ah !"  said  Sergeant  Crisp,  "so  we  could." 


374  CORPORAL    CAM  EBON 

"You  had  him  in  your  hands  to-day,"  said  Cameron, 
"but  like  a  fool  you  let  him  go.  But  some  day,  so  help 
me  God,  I  shall  bring  these  murderers  to  justice." 

"Ah!"  said  Sergeant  Crisp  again.  "Good!  Very 
good  indeed!  Now,  my  man,  march!" 


A    DAY    IN    THE    BARRACKS        375 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  DAY  IN  THE  MACLEOD  BARRACKS 

HAT'S  this,  Sergeant  Crisp?"  The  Com- 
missioner,  a  tall,  slight,  and  soldier-like 
man,  keen-eyed  and  brisk  of  speech,  rapped 
out  his  words  like  a  man  intent  on  business. 

"One  of  a  whiskey  gang,  Sir.  Dick  Raven's,  I  sus- 
pect." 

"And  the  charge?" 

"Whiskey  trading,  theft,  and  murder." 

The  Commissioner's  face  grew  grave. 

"Murder?    Where  did  you  find  him?" 

"Kootenay  trail,  Sir.  Got  wind  of  him  at  Calgary, 
followed  up  the  clue  past  Morleyville,  then  along  the 
Kootenay  trail.  A  blizzard  came  on  and  we  feared  we 
had  lost  them.  We  fell  in  with  a  band  of  Stony  Indians, 
found  that  the  band  had  been  robbed  and  two  of  their 
number  murdered." 

"Two  murdered?"  The  Commissioner's  voice  was 
stern. 

"Yes,  Sir.  Shot  down  in  cold  blood.  We  have  the 
testimony  of  an  eye  witness.  We  followed  the  trail  and 
came  upon  two  of  them.  My  horse  was  shot  One  of 
them  escaped ;  this  man  we  captured." 

The  Commissioner  sat  pondering.  Then  with  discon- 
certing swiftness  he  turned  upon  the  prisoner. 

"Your  name?" 

"Cameron,  Sir." 

"Where  from?" 

"I  was  working  in  Mclvor's  survey  camp  near  Mor- 


376  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

leyville.  I  went  out  shooting,  lost  my  way  in  a  bliz- 
zard, was  captured  by  a  man  who  called  himself 
Raven — " 

"Wait!"  said  the  Commissioner  sharply.  "Bring  me 
that  file!" 

The  orderly  brought  a  file  from  which  the  Commis- 
sioner selected  a  letter.  His  keen  eyes  rapidly  scanned 
the  contents  and  then  ran  over  the  prisoner  from  head 
to  foot.  Thereupon,  without  a  moment's  hesitation, 
he  said  curtly: 

"Release  the  prisoner!" 

"But,  Sir—  '  began  Sergeant  Crisp,  with  an  expres- 
sion of  utter  bewilderment  and  disgust  upon  his  face. 

"Release  the  prisoner!"  repeated  the  Commissioner 
sharply.  "Mr.  Cameron,  I  deeply  regret  this  mistake. 
Under  the  circumstances  it  could  hardly  have  been 
avoided.  You  were  in  bad  company,  you  see.  I  am 
greatly  pleased  that  my  men  have  been  of  service  to  you. 
We  shall  continue  to  do  all  we  can  for  you.  In  the 
meantime  I  am  very  pleased  to  have  the  pleasure  of 
meeting  you."  He  passed  the  letter  to  Sergeant  Crisp. 
"I  have  information  about  you  from  Morleyville,  you 
see.  Now  tell  us  all  about  it." 

It  took  Cameron  some  moments  to  recover  his  wits, 
so  dumbfounded  was  he  at  the  sudden  change  in  his 
condition. 

"Well,  Sir,"  he  began,  "I  hardly  know  what  to  say." 

"Sit  down,  sit  down,  Mr.  Cameron.  Take  your  time," 
said  the  Commissioner.  "We  are  somewhat  hurried 
these  days,  but  you  must  have  had  some  trying  experi- 
ences." 

Then  Cameron  proceeded  with  his  tale.  The  Com- 
missioner listened  with  keen  attention,  now  and  then 
arresting  him  with  a  question  or  a  comment.  When 


A    DAY    IN    THE    BABRACKS        377 

Cameron  came  to  tell  of  the  murder  of  the  Stonies  his 
Toice  shook  with  passion. 

"We  will  get  that  Indian  some  day,"  said  the  Com- 
missioner, "never  fear.  What  is  his  name?" 

"Little  Thunder,  Raven  called  him.  And  I  would 
like  to  take  a  hand  in  that  too,  Sir,"  said  Cameron 
eagerly. 

"You  would,  eh?"  said  the  Commissioner  with  a  sharp 
look  at  him.  "Well,  we'll  see.  Little  Thunder,"  he  re- 
peated to  himself.  "Bring  that  Record  Book!" 

The  orderly  laid  a  large  canvas-covered  book  before 
him. 

"Little  Thunder,  eh?"  he  repeated,  turning  the  leaves 
of  the  book.  "Oh,  yes,  I  thought  so!  Blood  Indian— 
formerly  Chief — supplanted  by  Red  Crow — got  into 
trouble  with  whiskey  traders.  Yes,  I  remember.  He 
is  at  his  old  tricks.  This  time,  however,  he  has  gone 
too  far.  We  will  get  him.  Go  on,  Mr.  Cameron !" 

When  Cameron  had  concluded  his  story  the  Commis- 
sioner said  to  the  orderly  sharply : 

"Send  me  Inspector  Dickson!" 

In  a  few  moments  Inspector  Dickson  appeared,  a 
tall,  slight  man,  with  a  gentle  face  and  kindly  blue 
eyes. 

"Inspector  Dickson,  how  are  we  for  men?  Can  you 
spare  two  or  three  to  round  up  a  gang  of  whiskey  traders 
and  to  run  down  a  murderer?  We  are  on  the  track 
of  Raven's  bunch,  I  believe." 

"We  are  very  short-handed  at  present,  Sir.  This 
half-breed  trouble  in  the  north  is  keeping  onr  In- 
dians all  very  restless.  We  must  keep  in  touch  with 
them." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know.  By  the  way,  how  are  the  Bloods 
just  now?" 


378  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

"They  are  better,  Sir,  but  the  Blackfeet  are  restless 
and  uneasy.  There  are  a  lot  of  runners  from  the  east 
among  them." 

"How  is  old  Crowfoot  behaving?" 

"Crowfoot  himself  is  apparently  all  right  so  far,  but 
of  course  no  man  can  tell  what  Crowfoot  is  thinking." 

"That's  right  enough,"  replied  the  Commissioner. 

"By  the  way,  Sir,  it  was  Crowfoot's  son  that  got  into 
that  trouble  last  night  with  that  Macleod  man.  The 
old  Chief  is  in  town,  too,  in  fact  is  outside  just  now 
and  quite  worked  up  over  the  arrest." 

"Well,  we  will  settle  this  Crowfoot  business  in  a  few 
minutes.  Now,  about  this  Raven  gang.  You  cannot  go 
yourself  with  a  couple  of  men?  He  is  an  exceedingly 
clever  rascal." 

The  Inspector  enumerated  the  cases  immediately 
pressing. 

"Well  then,  at  the  earliest  possible  moment  we  must 
get  after  this  gang.  Keep  this  in  mind,  Inspector  Dick- 
son.  That  Indian  I  consider  an  extremely  dangerous 
man.  He  is  sure  to  be  mixed  up  with  this  half-breed 
trouble.  He  has  very  considerable  influence  with  a 
large  section  of  the  Bloods.  I  shouldn't  be  surprised 
if  we  should  find  him  on  their  reserve  before  very  long. 
Now  then,  bring  in  young  Crowfoot !" 

The  Inspector  saluted  and  retired,  followed  by  Ser- 
geant Crisp,  whose  face  had  not  yet  regained  its  normal 
expression. 

"Mr.  Cameron,"  said  the  Commissioner,  "if  you  care 
to  remain  with  me  for  the  morning  I  shall  be  glad  to 
have  you.  The  administration  of  justice  by  the  police 
may  prove  interesting  to  you.  Later  on  we  shall  dis- 
cuss your  return  to  your  camp." 

Cameron  expressed  his  delight  at  being  permitted  to 


A    DAY    IN    THE    BARRACKS        379 

remain  in  the  court  room,  not  only  that  he  might  ob- 
serve the  police  methods  of  administering  justice,  but 
especially  that  he  might  see  something  of  the  great 
Blackfeet  Chief,  Crowfoot,  of  whom  he  had  heard  much 
since  his  arrival  in  the  West. 

In  a  few  minutes  Inspector  Dickson  returned,  fol- 
lowed by  a  constable  leading  a  young  Indian,  hand- 
cuffed. With  these  entered  Jerry,  the  famous  half- 
breed  interpreter,  and  last  of  all  the  father  of  the  pris- 
oner, old  Crowfoot,  tall,  straight,  stately.  One  swift 
searching  glance  the  old  Chief  flung  round  the  room, 
and  then,  acknowledging  the  Commissioner's  salute 
with  a  slight  wave  of  the  hand  and  a  grunt,  and  declin- 
ing the  seat  offered  him,  he  stood  back  against  the  wall 
and  there  viewed  the  proceedings  with  an  air  of  haughty 
defiance. 

The  Commissioner  lost  no  time  in  preliminaries.  The 
charge  was  read  and  explained  to  the  prisoner.  The 
constable  made  his  statement.  The  young  Indian  had 
got  into  an  altercation  with  a  citizen  of  Macleod,  and 
on  being  hard  pressed  had  pulled  the  pistol  which  was 
laid  upon  the  desk.  There  was  no  defense.  The  in- 
terpreter, however,  explained,  after  conversation  with 
the  prisoner,  that  drink  was  the  cause.  At  this  point 
the  old  Chief's  face  swiftly  changed.  Defiance  gave 
place  to  disgust,  grief,  and  rage. 

The  Commissioner,  after  carefully  eliciting  all  the 
facts,  gave  the  prisoner  an  opportunity  to  make  a  state- 
ment. This  being  declined,  the  Commissioner  proceeded 
gravely  to  point  out  the  serious  nature  of  the  offense, 
to  emphasize  the  sacredness  of  human  life  and  declare 
the  determination  of  the  government  to  protect  all  Her 
Majesty's  subjects,  no  matter  what  their  race  or  the 
colour  of  their  skin.  He  then  went  on  to  point  out  the 


380  CORPORAL    CAME  RON 

serious  danger  which  the  young  man  had  so  narrowly 
escaped. 

"Why,  man,"  exclaimed  the  Commissioner,  "you 
might  have  committed  murder." 

Here  the  young  fellow  said  something  to  the  inter- 
preter. There  was  a  flicker  of  a  smile  on  the  half-breed's 
face. 

"He  say  dat  pistol  he  no  good.  He  can't  shoot.  He 
not  loaded." 

The  Commissioner's  face  never  changed  a  line.  He 
gravely  turned  the  pistol  over  in  his  hand,  and  truly 
enough  the  rusty  weapon  appeared  to  be  quite  innocu- 
ous except  to  the  shooter. 

"This  is  an  extremely  dangerous  weapon.  Why, 
it  might  have  killed  yourself — if  it  had  been  loaded. 
We  cannot  allow  this  sort  of  thing.  However,  since 
it  was  not  loaded  we  shall  make  the  sentence  light.  I 
sentence  you  to  one  month's  confinement." 

The  interpreter  explained  the  sentence  to  the  young 
Indian,  who  received  the  explanation  without  the  move- 
ment of  a  muscle  or  the  flicker  of  an  eyelid.  The  con- 
stable touched  him  on  the  shoulder  and  said,  "Come!" 

Before  he  could  move  old  Crowfoot  with  two  strides 
stood  before  the  constable,  and  waving  him  aside  with 
a  gesture,  of  indescribable  dignity,  took  his  son  in  his 
arms  and  kissed  him  on  either  cheek.  Then,  stepping 
back,  he  addressed  him  in  a  voice  grave,  solemn,  and 
vibrant  with  emotion.  Jerry  interpreted  to  the 
Court. 

"I  have  observed  the  big  Chief.  This  is  good  medi- 
cine. It  is  good  that  wrong  should  suffer.  All  good 
men  are  against  wickedness.  My  son,  you  have  done 
foolishly.  You  have  darkened  my  eyes.  You  have  cov- 
ered my  face  before  my  people.  They  will  ask — where 


A    DAY    IN    THE    BARRACKS        381 

is  your  son?  My  voice  will  be  silent.  My  face  will 
be  covered  with  shame.  I  shall  be  like  a  dog  kicked 
from  the  lodge.  My  son,  I  told  you  to  go  only  to  the 
store.  I  warned  you  against  bad  men  and  bad  places. 
Your  ears  were  closed,  you  were  wiser  than  your  father. 
Now  we  both  must  suffer,  you  here  shut  up  from  the 
light  of  the  sky,  I  in  my  darkened  lodge.  But,"  he 
continued,  turning  swiftly  upon  the  Commissioner,  "I 
ask  my  father  why  these  bad  men  who  sell  whiskey  to 
the  poor  Indian  are  not  shut  up  with  my  son.  My  son 
is  young.  He  is  like  the  hare  in  the  woods.  He  falls 
easily  into  the  trap.  Why  are  not  these  bad  men  re- 
moved?" The  old  Chief's  face  trembled  with  indignant 
appeal. 

"They  shall  be!"  said  the  Commissioner,  smiting  the 
desk  with  his  fist.  "This  very  day !" 

"It  is  good !"  continued  the  old  Chief  with  great  dig- 
nity. Then,  turning  again  to  his  son,  he  said,  and  his 
voice  was  full  of  grave  tenderness : 

"Now,  go  to  your  punishment.  The  hours  will  be 
none  too  long  if  they  bring  you  wisdom."  Again  he 
kissed  his  son  on  both  cheeks  and,  without  a  look  at 
any  other,  stalked  haughtily  from  the  room. 

"Inspector  Dickson,"  sharply  commanded  the  Com- 
missioner, "find  out  the  man  that  sold  that  whiskey  and 
arrest  him  at  once!" 

Cameron  was  profoundly  impressed  with  the  whole 
scene.  He  began  to  realise  as  never  before  the  tre- 
mendous responsibilities  that  lay  upon  those  charged 
wTith  the  administration  of  justice  in  this  country.  He 
began  to  understand,  too,  the  secret  of  the  extraordinary 
hold  that  the  Police  had  upon  the  Indian  tribes  and 
how  it  came  that  so  small  a  force  could  maintain  the 
"Pax  Britannica"  over  three  hundred  thousand  square 


382  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

miles  of  unsettled  country,  the  home  of  hundreds  of 
wild  adventurers  and  of  thousands  of  savage  Indians, 
utterly  strange  to  any  rule  or  law  except  that  of  their 
own  sweet  will. 

"This  police  business  is  a  big  affair,"  he  ventured 
to  say  to  the  Commissioner  when  the  court  room  was 
cleared.  "You  practically  run  the  country." 

"Well,"  said  the  Commissioner  modestly,  "we  do 
something  to  keep  the  country  from  going  to  the  devil. 
We  see  that  every  man  gets  a  fair  show." 

"It  is  great  work!"  exclaimed  Cameron. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  it  is,"  replied  the  Commissioner. 
"We  don't  talk  about  it,  of  course.  Indeed,  we  don't 
think  of  it.  But,"  he  continued,  "that  blue  book  there 
could  tell  a  story  that  would  make  the  old  Empire  not 
too  ashamed  of  the  men  who  'ride  the  line'  and  patrol 
the  ranges  in  this  far  outpost."  He  opened  the  big  can- 
vas-bound book  as  he  spoke  and  turned  the  pages  over. 
"Look  at  that  for  a  page,"  he  said,  and  Cameron  glanced 
over  the  entries.  What  a  tale  they  told ! 

"Fire-fighting !" 

"Yes,"  said  the  Commissioner,  "that  saved  a  settler's 
wife  and  child — a  prairie  fire.  The  house  was  lost,  but 
the  constable  pulled  them  out  and  got  rather  badly 
burned  in  the  business." 

Cameron's  finger  ran  down  the  page. 

"Sick  man  transported  to  Post." 

"That,"  commented  the  Superintendent,  "was  a 
journey  of  over  two  hundred  miles  by  dog  sleighs  in 
winter.  Saved  the  man's  life." 

And  so  the  record  ran.  "Cattle  thieves  arrested." 
"Whiskey  smugglers  captured."  "Stolen  horses  re- 
covered." "Insane  man  brought  to  Post" 

"That  was  rather  a  tough  case,"  said  the  Commis- 


A    DAY    IN   THE    BARRACKS        383 

sioner.  "Meant  a  journey  of  some  eight  hundred  miles 
with  a  man,  a  powerful  man  too,  raving  mad." 

"How  many  of  your  men  on  that  journey?"  enquired 
Cameron. 

"Oh,  just  one.  The  fellow  got  away  twice,  but  was 
recaptured  and  finally  landed.  Got  better  too.  But 
the  constable  was  all  broken  up  for  weeks  afterwards." 

"Man,  that  was  great!"  exclaimed  Cameron.  "What 
a  pity  it  should  not  be  known." 

"Oh,"  said  the  Commissioner  lightly,  "it's  all  in  the 
day's  duty." 

The  words  thrilled  Cameron  to  the  heart.  "All  in  the 
day's  duty !"  The  sheer  heroism  of  it,  the  dauntless  fac- 
ing of  Nature's-  grimmest  terrors,  the  steady  patience,  the 
uncalculated  sacrifice,  the  thought  of  all  that  lay  be- 
hind these  simple  words  held  him  silent  for  many  min- 
utes as  he  kept  turning  over  the  leaves. 

As  he  sat  thus  turning  the  leaves  and  allowing  his 
eye  to  fall  upon  those  simple  but  eloquent  entries,  a 
loud  and  strident  voice  was  heard  outside. 

"Waal,  I  tell  yuh,  I  want  to  see  him  right  naow.  I 
ain't  come  two  hundred  miles  for  nawthin*.  I  mean 
business,  I  do." 

The  orderly's  voice  was  heard  in  reply 

"I  ain't  got  no  time  to  wait.  I  want  to  see  yer  Chief 
of  Police  right  naow." 

Again  the  orderly's  voice  could  be  distinguished. 

"In  court,  is  he?  Waal,  you  hurry  up  and  tell  him 
J.  B.  Cadwaller  of  Lone  Pine,  Montana,  an  American 
citizen,  wants  to  see  him  right  smart," 

The  orderly  came  in  and  saluted. 

"A  man  to  see  you,  Sir,"  he  said.     "An  American." 

"What  business?" 

"Horse-stealing  case,  Sir." 


384  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

"Show  him  in!" 

In  a  moment  the  orderly  returned,  followed  by,  not 
one,  but  three  American  citizens. 

"Good-day,  Jedge !  My  name's  J.  B.  Cad  waller,  Lone 
Pine,  Montana.  I — " 

"Take  your  hat  off  in  the  court!"  said  the  orderly 
sharply. 

Mr.  Cadwaller  slowly  surveyed  the  orderly  with  an 
expression  of  interested  curiosity  in  his  eyes,  remov- 
ing his  hat  as  he  did  so. 

"Say,  you'Be  pretty  swift,  ain't  yuh?  You  might  give 
a  feller  a  show  to  git  in  his  interductions,"  said  Mr. 
Cadwaller.  "I  was  jes  goin'  to  interdooce  to  you,  Jedge, 
these  gentlemen  from  my  own  State,  District  Attorney 
Hiram  S.  Sligh  and  Mr.  Rufus  Raimes,  rancher." 

The  Commissioner  duly  acknowledged  the  intro- 
duction, standing  to  receive  the  strangers  with  due 
courtesy. 

"Now,  Jedge,  I  want  to  see  yer  Chief  of  Police.  I've 
got  a  case  for  him." 

"I  have  the  honor  to  be  the  Commissioner.  What 
can  I  do  for  you?" 

"Waal,  Jedge,  we  don't  want  to  wraste  no  time,  neither 
yours  nor  ours.  The  fact  is  some  of  yer  blank  blank 
Indians  have  been  rustlin'  bosses  from  us  fer  some  time 
back.  We  don't  mind  a  cayuse  now  and  then,  but  when 
it  comes  to  a  hull  bunch  of  vallable  bosses  there's  where 
we  kick  and  we  ain't  goin'  to  stand  fer  it.  And  we  want 
them  bosses  re-stored.  And  what's  more,  we  want  them 
blank  blank  copper  snakes  strung  up." 

"How  many  horses  have  you  lost?" 

"How  many?  Jeerupiter!  Thirty  or  forty  fer  all 
I  know;  they've  been  rustlin'  'em  for  a  year  back." 

"Why  didn't  you  report  before?" 


A    DAY    IN   THE    BAKRACKS       385 

"Why  we  thought  we'd  git  'em  ourselves,  and  if  we 
had  we  wouldn't  'a  troubled  yuh — and  I  guess  they 
wouldn't  'a  troubled  us  much  longer.  But  they  are  so 
slick — so  blank  slick!" 

"Mr.  Cadwaller,  we  don't  allow  any  profanity  in 
this  court  room,"  said  the  Commissioner  in  a  quiet 
yoice. 

"Eh?  Who's  givin'  yuh  profanity?  I  don't  mean 
no  profanity.  I'm  talkin'  about  them  blank  blank — " 

"Stop,  Mr.  Cadwaller !"  said  the  Commissioner.  "We 
must  end  this  interview  if  you  cannot  make  your  state- 
ments without  profanity.  This  is  Her  Majesty's  Court 
of  Justice  and  we  cannot  tolerate  any  unbecoming  lan- 
guage." 

"Waal,  I'll  be—!" 

"Pardon  me,  Mr.  Commissioner,"  said  Mr.  Hiram  S. 
Sligh,  interruping  his  friend  and  client.  "Perhaps  I 
may  make  a  statement.  We've  lost  some  twenty  or 
thirty  horses." 

"Thirty-one"  interjected  Mr.  Raimes  quietly. 

"Thirty-one!"  burst  in  Mr.  Cadwaller  indignantly. 
"That's  only  one  little  bunch." 

"And,"  continued  Mr.  Sligh,  "we  have  traced  them 
right  up  to  the  Blood  reserve.  More  than  that,  Mr. 
Raimes  has  seen  the  horses  in  the  possession  of  the 
Indians  and  we  want  your  assistance  in  recovering  our 
property." 

"Yes,  by  gum!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Cadwaller.  "And  we 
want  them — eh — eh — consarned  redskin  thieves  strung 
up." 

"You  say  you  have  seen  the  stolen  horses  on  the  Blood 
reserve,  Mr.  Raimes?"  enquired  the  Commissioner. 

Mr.  Raimes,  who  was  industriously  chewing  a  quid 
of  tobacco,  ejected,  with  a  fine  sense  of  propriety  and 


386  CORPORAL    CAM  EBON 

with  great  skill  and  accuracy,  a  stream  of  tobacco  juice 
out  of  the  door  before  he  answered. 

"I  seen  'em." 

"When  did  you  lose  your  horses?" 

Mr.  Raimes  considered  the  matter  for  some  moments, 
chewing  energetically  the  while,  then,  having  delivered 
himself  with  the  same  delicacy  and  skill  as  before  of 
his  surplus  tobacco  juice,  made  laconic  reply : 

"Seventeen,  no,  eighteen  days  ago." 

"Did  you  follow  the  trail  immediately  yourselves?" 

"No,  Jim  Eberts." 

"Jim  Eberts?" 

"Foreman,"  said  Mr.  Raimes,  who  seemed  to  regard 
conversation  in  the  light  of  an  interference  with  the 
more  important  business  in  which  he  was  industriously 
engaged. 

"But  you  saw  the  horses  yourself  on  the  Blood  re- 
serve?" 

"Followed  up  and  seen  'em." 

"How  long  since  you  saw  them  there,  Mr.  Raimes?" 

"Two  days." 

"You  are  quite  sure  about  the  horses?" 

"Sure." 

"Call  Inspector  Dickson !"  ordered  the  Commissioner. 

Inspector  Dickson  appeared  and  saluted. 

"We  have  information  that  a  party  of  Blood  Indians 
have  stolen  a  band  of  horses  from  these  gentlemen  from 
Montana  and  that  these  horses  are  now  on  the  Blood 
reserve.  Take  a  couple  of  men  and  investigate,  and  if 
you  find  the  horses  bring  them  back." 

"Couple  of  men!"  ejaculated  Mr.  Cad  waller 
breathlessly.  "A  couple  of  hundred,  you  mean,  Gen- 
eral!" 

"What  for?" 


A    DAY    IN    THE    BARRACKS        387 

"Why,  to  sur — raound  them — there — Indians."  The 
regulations  of  the  court  room  considerably  hampered 
Mr.  Cadwaller's  fluency  of  speech. 

"It  is  not  necessary  at  all,  Mr.  Cadwaller.  Besides, 
we  have  only  some  eighty  men  all  told  at  this  post.  Our 
whole  force  in  the  territories  is  less  than  five  hundred 
men." 

"Five  hundred  men !  You  mean  for  this  State,  Gen- 
eral— Alberta?" 

"No,  Sir.  For  all  Western  Canada,  All  west  of  Mani- 
toba." 

"How  much  territory  do  you  cover?"  enquired  the 
astonished  Mr.  Cadwaller. 

"We  regularly  patrol  some  three  hundred  thousand 
square  miles,  besides  taking  an  occasional  expedition 
into  the  far  north." 

"And  how  many  Indians?" 

"About  the  same  number  as  you  have,  I  imagine,  in 
Montana  and  Dakota.  In  Alberta,  about  nine  thou- 
sand." 

"And  less  than  five  hundred  police!  Say,  General, 
I  take  off  my  hat.  Ten  thousand  Indians!  By  the 
holy  poker!  And  five  hundred  police!  How  in  Cain 
do  you  keep  down  the  devils?" 

"We  don't  try  to  keep  them  down.  We  try  to  take 
care  of  them." 

"Guess  you've  hit  it,"  said  Mr.  Raimes,  dexterously 
squirting  out  of  the  door. 

"Jeerupiter!  Say,  General,  some  day  they'll  massa- 
cree  yuh  sure!"  said  Mr.  Cadwaller,  a  note  of  anxiety 
in  his  voice. 

"Oh,  no,  they  are  a  very  good  lot  on  the  whole." 

"Good!  We've  got  a  lot  of  good  Indians  too,  but 
they're  all  under  graound.  Five  hundred  men!  Jee- 


388  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

rupiter!  Say,  Sligh,  how  many  soldiers  does  Uncle 
Sam  have  on  this  job?" 

"Well,  I  can't  say  altogether,  but  in  Montana  and 
Dakota  I  happen  to  know  we  have  abont  four  thousand 
regulars. 

"Say,  figger  that  out,  will  yuh?"  continued  Mr.  Cad- 
waller.  "Allowed  four  times  the  territory,  about  the 
same  number  of  Indians  and  about  one-eighth  the  num- 
ber of  police.  Say,  General,  I  take  off  my  hat  again. 
Put  it  there!  You  Canucks  have  got  the  trick  sure!" 

"Easier  to  care  for  'em  than  kill  'em,  I  guess,"  said 
Mr.  Eaimes  casually. 

"But,  say,  General,"  continued  Mr.  Cadwaller,  "you 
ain't  goin'  to  send  for  them  hosses  with  no  three  men?" 

"I'm  afraid  we  cannot  spare  any  more." 

"Jeerupiter,  General !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Cadwaller.  "I'll 
wait  outside  the  reserve  till  this  picnic's  over.  Say, 
General,  let's  have  twenty-five  men  at  least." 

"What  do  you  say,  Inspector  Dickson?  Will  two  men 
be  sufficient?" 

"We'll  try,  Sir,"  replied  the  Inspector. 

"How  soon  can  you  be  ready?" 

"In  a  quarter  of  an  hour." 

"Jeerupiter!"  muttered  Mr.  Cadwaller  to  himseL,  as 
lie  followed  the  Inspector  out  of  the  room. 

"I  say,  Commissioner,  will  you  let  me  in  on  this 
thing?"  said  Cameron. 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  want  to  join  the  force?"  en- 
quired the  Commissioner,  letting  his  eye  run  approy- 
ingly  up  and  down  Cameron's  figure. 

"There  is  Mclvor,  Sir — "  began  Cameron. 

"Oh,  I  could  fix  that  all  right,"  replied  the  Commis- 
sioner. "We  want  men,  and  we  want  men  like  you.  We 
have  no  vacancy  among  the  officers,  but  you  could  en- 


A    DAY    IN    THE    BARRACKS        389 

list  as  a  constable  and  there  is  always  opportunity  to 
advance." 

"It  is  a  great  service!"  exclaimed  Cameron.  "I'd 
like  awfully  to  join." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  Commissioner  promptly,  "we 
will  take  you.  You  are  physically  sound,  wind,  limb, 
eye-sight,  and  so  forth?" 

"As  far  as  I  know,  perfectly  fit,"  replied  Cameron. 

Once  more  Inspector  Dickson  was  summoned. 

"Inspector  Dickson,  Mr.  Cameron  wishes  to  join  the 
force.  We  will  have  his  application  taken  and  filled  in 
later,  and  wre  will  waive  examination  for  the  present. 
Will  you  administer  the  oath?" 

"Cameron,  stand  up!"  commanded  the  Inspector 
sharply. 

With  a  little  thrill  at  his  heart  Cameron  stood  up, 
took  the  Bible  in  his  hand  and  repeated  after  the  In- 
spector the  words  of  the  oath, 

"I,  Allan  Cameron,  solemnly  swear  that  I  will  faith- 
fully, diligently,  and  impartially  execute  and  perform 
the  duties  required  of  me  as  a  member  of  the  North 
West  Mounted  Police  Force,  and  will  well  and  truly 
obey  and  perform  all  lawful  orders  and  instructions 
which  I  shall  receive  as  such,  without  fear,  favour,  or 
affection  of  or  toward  any  person.  So  help  me,  God." 

"Now  then,  Cameron,  I  congratulate  you  upon  your 
new  profession.  The  Inspector  will  see  about  your  out- 
fit and  later  you  will  receive  instructions  as  to  your 
duties.  Meantime,  take  him  along  with  you,  Inspector, 
and  get  those  horses." 

It  was  a  somewhat  irregular  mode  of  procedure,  but 
men  were  sorely  needed  at  the  Macleod  post  and  the 
Commissioner  had  an  eye  that  took  in  not  only  the  lines 
of  a  man's  figure  but  the  qualities  of  his  soul. 


390  CORPORAL   CAMERON 

"That  chap  will  make  good,  or  I  am  greatly  mistaken," 
he  said  to  the  Inspector  as  Cameron  went  off  with  the 
orderly  to  select  his  uniform. 

"Well  set  up  chap,"  said  the  Inspector.  "We'll  try 
him  out  to-night." 

"Come  now,  don't  kill  him.  Remember,  other  men 
have  something  else  in  them  besides  whalebone  and 
steel,  if  you  have  not." 

In  half  an  hour  the  Inspector,  Sergeant  Crisp  and 
Cameron,  with  the  three  American  citizens,  were  on 
their  way  to  the  Blood  reserve. 

Cameron  had  been  given  a  horse  from  the  stable. 

All  afternoon  and  late  into  the  evening  they  rode,  then 
camped  and  were  early  upon  the  trail  the  following 
morning.  Cameron  was  half  dead  with  the  fatigue  from 
his  experiences  of  the  past  week,  but  he  would  have  died 
rather  than  have  hinted  at  weariness.  He  was  not  a 
little  comforted  to  notice  that  Sergeant  Crisp,  too,  was 
showing  signs  of  distress,  while  District  Attorney  Sligh 
was  evidently  in  the  last  stages  of  exhaustion.  Even 
the  steel  and  whalebone  combination  that  constituted 
the  frame  of  the  Inspector  appeared  to  show  some  slight 
signs  of  wear;  but  all  feeling  of  weariness  vanished 
when  the  Inspector,  who  was  in  the  lead,  halted  at  the 
edge  of  a  wide  sweeping  valley  and,  pointing  far  ahead, 
said,  "The  Blood  reserve.  Their  camp  lies  just  beyond 
that  bluff." 

"Say,  Inspector,  hold  up!"  cried  Mr.  Cadwaller  as 
the  Inspector  set  off  again.  "Ain't  yuh  goin'  to  sneak 
up  on  'em  like?" 

"Sneak  up  on  them?  No,  of  course  not,"  said  the 
Inspector  curtly.  "We  shall  ride  right  in." 

"Say,  Raimes,"  said  Mr.  Cadwaller,  "a  hole  would  be 
a  blame  nice  thing  to  find  just  now." 


A    DAY    IN    THE    BARRACKS        391 

"Do  you  think  there  will  be  any  trouble?"  enquired 
Mr.  Hiram  Sligh  of  Sergeant  Crisp. 

"Trouble?  Perhaps  so,"  replied  Crisp,  as  if  to  him 
it  were  a  matter  of  perfect  indifference. 

"We'll  never  git  them  bosses,"  said  Raimes.  "But 
we've  got  to  stay  with  the  chief,  I  guess." 

And  so  they  followed  Inspector  Dickson  down  into 
the  valley,  where  in  the  distance  could  be  seen  a  num- 
ber of  horses  and  cattle  grazing.  They  had  not  ridden 
far  along  the  valley  bottom  when  Mr.  Cadwaller  spurred 
up  upon  the  Inspector  and  called  out  excitedly, 

"I  say,  Inspector,  them's  our  hosses  right  there.  Say, 
let's  run  'em  off." 

"Can  you  pick  them  out?"  enquired  the  Inspector, 
turning  in  his  saddle. 

"Every  last  one!"  said  Raimes. 

"Very  well,  cut  them  out  and  get  them  into  a  bunch," 
said  the  Inspector.  "I  see  there  are  some  Indians  herd- 
ing them  apparently.  Pay  no  attention  to  them,  but 
go  right  along  with  your  work." 

"There's  one  of  'em  off  to  give  tongue!"  cried  Mr. 
Cadwaller  excitedly.  "Bring  him  down,  Inspector! 
Bring  him  down!  Quick!  Here,  let  me  have  your 
rifle!"  Hurriedly  he  snatched  at  the  Inspector's  car- 
bine. 

"Stop!"  cried  the  Inspector  in  sharp  command. 
"Now,  attention !  We  are  on  a  somewhat  delicate  busi- 
ness. A  mistake  might  bring  disaster.  I  am  in  com- 
mand of  this  party  and  I  must  have  absolute  and 
prompt  obedience.  Mr.  Cadwaller,  it  will  be  at  your 
peril  that  you  make  any  such  move  again.  Let  no  man 
draw  a  gun  until  ordered  by  me!  Now,  then,  cut  out 
those  horses  and  bunch  them  together!" 

"Jeerupiter!    He's  a  hull  brigade  himself,"  said  Mr. 


392  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

Cadwaller  in  an  undertone,  dropping  back  beside  Mr. 
Sligh.  "Waal,  here  goes  for  the  bunch." 

But  though  both  Mr.  Cadwaller  and  Mr.  Raimes,  as 
well  as  Sergeant  Crisp  and  the  Inspector,  were  expert 
cattle  men,  it  took  some  little  time  and  very  consider- 
able manoeuvering  to  get  the  stolen  horses  bunched  to- 
gether and  separated  from  the  rest  of  the  animals  graz- 
ing in  the  valley,  and  by  the  time  this  was  accomplished 
Indian  riders  had  appeared  on  every  side,  gradually 
closing  in  upon  the  party.  It  was  clearly  impossible 
to  drive  off  the  bunch  through  that  gradually  narrow- 
ing cordon  of  mounted  Indians  without  trouble. 

"Now,  what's  to  be  done?"  said  Mr.  Cadwaller,  nerv- 
ously addressing  the  Inspector. 

"Forward!"  cried  the  Inspector  in  a  loud  voice. 
"Towards  the  corral  ahead  there!" 

This  movement  nonplussed  the  Indians  and  in  silence 
they  fell  in  behind  the  party  who,  going  before,  finally 
succeeded  in  driving  the  bunch  of  horses  into  the 
corral. 

"Sergeant  Crisp,  you  and  Constable  Cameron  remain 
here  on  guard.  I 'shall  go  and  find  the  Chief.  Here," 
he  continued,  addressing  a  young  Indian  brave  who 
had  ridden  up  quite  close  to  the  gate  of  the  corral,  "lead 
me  to  your  Chief,  Red  Crow !" 

The  absence  alike  of  all  hesitation  or  fear,  and  of  all 
bluster  in  his  tone  and  bearing,  apparently  impressed 
the  young  brave,  for  he  wheeled  his  pony  and  set  off 
immediately  at  a  gallop,  followed  by  the  Inspector  at  a 
more  moderate  pace. 

Quickly  the  Indians  gathered  about  the  corral  and 
the  group  at  its  gate.  With  every  passing  minute  their 
numbers  increased,  and  as  their  numbers  increased  so 
did  the  violence  of  their  demonstration.  The  three 


A    DAY    IN    THE    BARRACKS        393 

Americans  were  placed  next  the  corral,  Sergeant  Crisp 
and  Cameron  being  between  them  and  the  excited  In- 
dians. Cameron  had  seen  Indians  before  about  the 
trading  posts.  A  shy,  suspicious,  and  subdued  lot  of 
creatures  they  had  seemed  to  him.  But  these  were  men 
of  another  breed,  with  their  lean,  lithe,  muscular  fig- 
ures, their  clean,  copper  skins,  their  wild  fierce  eyes, 
their  haughty  bearing.  Those  others  were  poor  beggars 
seeking  permission  to  exist;  these  were  men,  proud,  fear- 
less, and  free. 

"Jove,  what  a  team  one  could  pick  out  of  the  bunch !" 
said  Cameron  to  himself,  as  his  eye  fell  upon  the  clean 
bare  limbs  and  observed  their  graceful  motions.  But 
to  the  Americans  they  were  a  hateful  and  fearsome 
sight.  Indians  with  them  were  never  anything  but  a 
menace  to  be  held  in  check,  or  a  nuisance  to  be  got  rid 
of. 

Louder  and  louder  grew  the  yells  and  wilder  the  ges- 
ticulations as  the  savages  worked  themselves  up  into 
a  fury.  Suddenly,  through  the  yelling,  careering,  ges- 
ticulating crowd  of  Indians  a  young  brave  came  tear- 
ing at  full  gallop  and,  thrusting  his  pony  close  up  to 
the  Sergeant's,  stuck  his  face  into  the  officer's  and  ut- 
tered a  terrific  war  whoop.  Not  a  line  of  the  Sergeant's 
face  nor  a  muscle  of  his  body  moved  except  that  the 
near  spur  slightly  touched  his  horse's  flank  and  the 
fingers  tightened  almost  imperceptibly  upon  the  bridle 
rein.  Like  a  flash  of  light  the  Sergeant's  horse  wheeled 
and  with  a  fierce  squeal  let  fly  two  wicked  heels  hard 
upon  the  pony's  ribs.  In  sheer  terror  and  surprise  the 
little  beast  bolted,  throwing  his  rider  over  his  neck  and 
finally  to  the  ground.  Immediately  a  shout  of  jeering 
laughter  rose  from  the  crowd,  who  greatly  enjoyed  their 
comrade's  discomfiture.  Except  that  the  Sergeant's 


394  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

face  wore  a  look  of  pleased  surprise,  he  simply  main- 
tained his  attitude  of  calm  indifference.  No  other  In- 
dian, however,  appeared  ready  to  repeat  the  perform- 
ance of  the  young  brave. 

At  length  the  Inspector  appeared,  followed  by  the 
Chief,  Red  Crow. 

"Tell  your  people  to  go  away !"  said  the  Inspector  as 
they  reached  the  corral.  "They  are  making  too  much 
noise." 

Red  Crow  addressed  his  braves  at  some  length. 

"Open  the  corral,"  ordered  the  Inspector,  "and  get 
those  horses  out  on  the  trail." 

For  a  few  moments  there  was  silence.  Then,  as  the 
Indians  perceived  the  purpose  of  the  police,  on  every 
side  there  rose  wild  yells  of  protest  and  from  every 
side  a  rush  was  made  toward  the  corral.  But  Sergeant 
Crisp  kept  his  horse  on  the  move  in  a  series  of  kicks  and 
plunges  that  had  the  effect  of  keeping  clear  a  wide 
circle  about  the  corral  gate. 

"Touch  your  horse  with  the  spur  and  hold  him  up 
tight,"  he  said  quietly  to  Cameron. 

Cameron  did  so  and  at  once  his  horse  became  seem- 
ingly as  unmanageable  as  the  Sergeant's,  plunging,  bit- 
ing, kicking.  The  Indian  ponies  could  not  be  induced  to 
approach.  The  uproar,  however,  only  increased.  Guns 
began  to  go  off,  bullets  could  be  heard  whistling  over- 
head. Red  Crow's  voice  apparently  could  make  no 
impression  upon  the  maddened  crowd  of  Indians.  A 
minor  Chief,  White  Horse  by  name,  having  whirled  in 
behind  the  Sergeant,  seized  hold  of  Mr.  Cadwaller's 
bridle  and  began  to  threaten  him  with  excited  gesticu- 
lations. Mr.  Cadwaller  drew  his  gun. 

"Let  go  that  line,  you  blank  blank  redskin !"  he  roared, 
flourishing  his  revolver. 


A    DAY    IN    THE    BARRACKS        395 

In  a  moment,  with  a  single  plunge,  the  Inspector  was 
at  his  side  and,  flinging  off  the  Indian,  shouted : 

"Put  up  that  gun,  Mr.  Cadwaller!  Quick!"  Mr. 
Cad  waller  hesitated.  "Sergeant  Crisp,  arrest  that 
man!"  The  Inspector's  voice  rang  out  like  a  trumpet. 
His  gun  covered  Mr.  Cadwaller. 

"Give  me  that  gun!"  said  the  Sergeant. 

Mr.  Cadwaller  handed  over  his  gun. 

"Let  him  go,"  said  the  Inspector  to  Sergeant  Crisp. 
"He  will  probably  behave." 

The  Indians  had  gathered  close  about  the  group. 
White  Horse,  in  the  centre,  was  talking  fast  and  furi- 
ous and  pointing  to  Mr.  Cadwaller. 

"Get  the  bunch  off,  Sergeant!"  said  the  Inspector 
quietly.  "I  will  hold  them  here  for  a  few  minutes." 

Quietly  the  Sergeant  backed  out  of  the  circle,  leaving 
the  Inspector  and  Mr.  Cadwaller  with  White  Horse  and 
Red  Crow  in  the  midst  of  the  crowding,  yelling  Indians. 

"White  Horse  say  this  man  steal  Bull  Back's  horses 
last  fall !"  shouted  Red  Crow  in  the  Inspector's  ear. 

"Too  much  noise  here,"  said  the  Inspector,  moving 
toward  the  Indian  camp  and  away  from  the  corral  and 
drawing  the  crowd  with  him.  "Tell  your  people  to  be 
quiet,  Red  Crow.  I  thought  you  were  the  Chief." 

Stung  by  the  taunt,  Red  Crow  raised  his  rifle  and 
fired  into  the  air.  Then,  standing  high  in  his  stirrups, 
he  held  up  his  hand  and  called  out  a  number  of  names. 
Instantly  ten  men  rode  to  his  side.  Again  Red  Crow 
spoke.  The  ten  men  rode  out  again  among  the  crowd. 
Immediately  the  shouting  ceased. 

"Good!"  said  the  Inspector.  "I  see  my  brother  is 
strong.  Now,  where  is  Bull  Back?" 

The  Chief  called  out  a  name.    There  was  no  response. 

"Bull  Back  not  here,"  he  said. 


396 


"Then  listen,  my  brother,"  said  the  Inspector  ear- 
nestly. "This  man,"  pointing  to  Mr.  Cadwaller,  "waits 
with  me  at  the  Fort  two  days  to  meet  White  Horse, 
Bull  Back,  and  any  Indians  who  know  about  this  man ; 
and  what  is  right  will  be  done.  I  have  spoken.  Fare- 
well!" He  gave  his  hand  to  Chief  Bed  Crow.  "My 
brother  knows,"  he  added,  "the  Police  do  not  lie." 

So  saying,  he  wheeled  his  horse  and,  with  Mr.  Cad- 
waller  before  him,  rode  off  after  the  others  of  the  party, 
who  had  by  this  time  gone  some  distance  up  the  trail. 

For  a  few  moments  hesitation  held  the  crowd,  then 
with  a  loud  cry  White  Horse  galloped  up  and  again 
seized  Mr.  Cadwaller's  bridle.  Instantly  the  Inspector 
covered  him  with  his  gun. 

"Hold  up  your  hands  quick !"  he  said. 

The  Indian  dropped  the  bridle  rein.  The  Inspector 
handed  his  gun  to  Mr.  Cadwaller. 

"Don't  shoot  till  I  speak  or  I  shoot  you!"  he  said 
sternly.  Mr.  Cadwaller  took  the  gun  and  covered  the 
Indian.  In  a  twinkling  WThite  Horse  found  himself 
with  handcuffs  on  his  wrists  and  his  bridle  line  attached 
to  the  horn  of  the  Inspector's  saddle. 

"Now  give  me  that  gun,  Mr.  Cadwaller,  and  here  take 
your  own — but  wait  for  the  word.  Forward!" 

He  had  not  gone  a  pace  till  he  was  surrounded  by 
a  score  of  angry  and  determined  Indians  with  levelled 
rifles.  For  the  first  time  the  Inspector  hesitated. 
Through  the  line  of  levelled  rifles  Chief  Red  Crow  rode 
up  and  in  a  grave  but  determined  voice  said : 

"My  brother  is  wrong.  White  Horse,  chief.  My 
young  men  not  let  him  go." 

"Good !"  said  the  Inspector,  promptly  making  up  his 
mind.  "I  let  him  go  now.  In  two  days  I  come  again 
and  get  him.  The  Police  never  lie." 


A    DAY    IN    THE    BARRACKS        397 

So  saying,  he  released  White  Horse  and  without  fur- 
ther word,  and  disregarding  the  angry  looks  and  levelled 
rifles,  rode  slowly  off  after  his  party.  On  the  edge  of 
the  crowd  he  met  Sergeant  Crisp. 

"Thought  I'd  better  come  back,  Sir.  It  looked  rather 
ugly  for  a  minute,"  said  the  Sergeant. 

"Ride  on,"  said  the  Inspector.  "We  will  get  our  man 
to-morrow.  Steady,  Mr.  Cadwaller,  not  too  fast."  The 
Inspector  slowed  his  horse  down  to  a  walk,  which  he 
gradually  increased  to  an  easy  lope  and  so  brought  up 
with  Cameron  and  the  others. 

Through  the  long  evening  they  pressed  forward  till 
they  came  to  the  Kootenay  River,  having  crossed  which 
they  ventured  to  camp  for  the  night. 

After  supper  the  Inspector  announced  his  intention 
of  riding  on  to  the  Fort  for  reinforcements,  and  gave 
his  instructions  to  the  Sergeant. 

"Sergeant  Crisp,"  he  said,  "you  will  make  an  early 
start  and  bring  in  the  bunch  to-morrow  morning.  Mr. 
Cadwaller,  you  remember  you  are  to  remain  at  the  Fort 
two  days  so  that  the  charges  brought  by  White  Horse 
may  be  investigated." 

"What?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Cadwaller.  "Wait  for  them 
blank  blank  devils?  Say,  Inspector,  you  don't  mean 
that?" 

"You  heard  me  promise  the  Indians,"  said  the  Inspec- 
tor. 

"Why,  yes.  Mighty  smart,  too!  But  say,  you  were 
jest  joshing,  weren't  you?" 

"No,  Sir,"  replied  the  Inspector.  "The  Police  never 
break  a  promise  to  white  man  or  Indian." 

Then  Mr.  Cadwaller  cut  loose  for  a  few  moments. 
He  did  not  object  to  waiting  any  length  of  time  to  oblige 
a  friend,  but  that  he  should  delay  his  journey  to  answer 


398  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

the  charges  of  an  Indian,  variously  and  picturesquely 
described,  was  to  him  an  unthinkable  proposition. 

"Sergeant  Crisp,  you  will  see  to  this,"  said  the  In- 
spector quietly  as  he  rode  away. 

Then  Mr.  Cadwaller  began  to  laugh  and  continued 
laughing  for  several  minutes. 

"By  the  holy  poker,  Sligh!"  at  last  he  exclaimed. 
"It's  a  joke.  It's  a  regular  John  Bull  joke." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Sligh,  while  he  cut  a  comfortable 
chew  from  his  black  plug.  "Good  joke,  too,  but  not  on 
John.  I  guess  that's  how  five  hundred  police  hold  down 
— no,  take  care  of — twenty  thousand  redskins." 

And  the  latest  recruit  to  Her  Majesty's  North  West 
Mounted  Police  straightened  up  till  he  could  feel  the 
collar  of  his  tunic  catch  him  on  the  back  of  the  neck  and 
was  conscious  of  a  little  thrill  running  up  his  spine  as 
he  remembered  that  he  was  a  member  of  that  same  force. 


THE    MAKING    OF    BRAVES        399 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   MAKING   OF  BRAVES 

IT  was  to  Cameron  an  extreme  satisfaction  to  ride 
with  some  twenty  of  his  comrades  behind  White 
Horse,  who,  handcuffed  and  with  bridle  reins  tied 
to  those  of  two  troopers,  and  accompanied  by  Chief  Eed 
Crow,  Bull  Back,  and  others  of  their  tribe,  made  igno- 
minious and  crestfallen  entry  into  the  Fort  next  day.  It 
was  hardly  less  of  a  satisfaction  to  see  Mr.  Cadwaller 
exercise  himself  considerably  in  making  defence  against 
the  charges  of  Bull  Back  and  his  friends.  The  defence 
was  successful,  and  the  American  citizens  departed  to 
Lone  Pine,  Montana,  with  their  recovered  horses  and 
with  a  new  and  higher  regard  for  both  the  executive  and 
administrative  excellence  of  Her  Majesty's  North  West 
Mounted  Police  officers  and  men.  Chief  Red  Crow,  too, 
returned  to  his  band  with  a  chastened  mind,  it  having 
been  made  clear  to  him  that  a  chief  who  could  not  con- 
trol his  young  braves  was  not  the  kind  of  a  chief  the 
Great  White  Mother  desired  to  have  in  command  of  her 
Indian  subjects.  White  Horse,  also,  after  three  months 
sojourn  in  the  cooling  solitude  of  the  Police  guard 
room,  went  back  to  his  people  a  humbler  and  a  wiser 
brave. 

The  horse-stealing,  however,  went  merrily  on  and  the 
summer  of  1884  stands  in  the  records  of  the  Police  as 
the  most  trying  period  of  their  history  in  the  North- 
west up  to  that  date.  The  booming  upon  the  eastern 
and  southern  boundaries  of  Western  Canada  of  the 
incoming  tide  of  humanity,  hungry  for  land,  awakened 


400  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

ominous  echoes  in  the  little  primitive  settlements  of 
half-breed  people  and  throughout  the  reservations  of 
the  wild  Indian  tribes  as  well.  Everywhere,  without 
warning  and  without  explanation,  the  surveyors'  flags 
and  posts  made  appearance.  Wild  rumours  ran 
through  the  land,  till  every  fluttering  flag  became  the 
symbol  of  dispossession  and  every  gleaming  post  an 
emblem  of  tyrannous  disregard  of  a  people's  rights.  The 
ancient  aboriginal  inhabitants  of  the  western  plains 
and  woods,  too,  had  their  grievances  and  their  fears. 
With  phenomenal  rapidity  the  buffalo  had  vanished 
from  the  plains  once  black  with  their  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands. With  the  buffalo  vanished  the  Indians'  chief 
source  of  support,  their  food,  their  clothing,  their 
shelter,  their  chief  article  of  barter.  Bereft  of  these  and 
deprived  at  the  same  time  of  the  supreme  joy  of  exist- 
ence, the  chase,  bitten  with  cold,  starved  with  hunger, 
fearful  of  the  future,  they  offered  fertile  soil  for  the 
seeds  of  rebellion.  A  government  more  than  usually 
obsessed  with  stupidity,  as  all  governments  become  at 
times,  remained  indifferent  to  appeals,  deaf  to  remon- 
strances, blind  to  danger  signals,  till  through  the  remote 
and  isolated  settlements  of  the  vast  west  and  among  the 
tribes  of  Indians,  hunger-bitten  and  fearful  for  their 
future,  a  spirit  of  unrest,  of  fear,  of  impatience  of  all 
authority,  spread  like  a  secret  plague  from  Prince 
Albert  to  the  Crow's  Nest  and  from  the  Cypress  Hills  to 
Edmonton.  A  violent  recrudescence  of  whiskey-smug- 
gling, horse-stealing,  and  cattle-rustling  made  the  work 
of  administering  the  law  throughout  this  vast  territory 
one  of  exceeding  difficulty  and  one  calling  for  prompti- 
tude, wisdom,  patience,  and  courage,  of  no  ordinary 
quality.  Added  to  all  this,  the  steady  advance  of  the 
railroad  into  the  new  country,  with  its  huge  construe- 


THE  MAKING  OF  BRAVES    401 

tion  camps,  in  whose  wake  followed  the  lawless  hordes 
of  whiskey  smugglers,  tinhorn  gamblers,  thugs,  and 
harlots,  very  materially  added  to  the  dangers  and  diffi- 
culties of  the  situation  for  the  Police. 

For  the  first  month  after  enlistment  Cameron  was 
kept  in  close  touch  with  the  Fort  and  spent  his  hours 
under  the  polishing  hands  of  the  drill  sergeant.  From 
five  in  the  morning  till  ten  at  night  the  day's  routine 
kept  him  on  the  grind.  Hard  work  it  was,  but  to  Cam- 
eron a  continuous  delight.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life 
he  had  a  job  that  seemed  worth  a  man's  while,  and  one 
the  mere  routine  of  which  delighted  his  soul.  He  loved 
his  horse  and  loved  to  care  for  him,  and,  most  of  all, 
loved  to  ride  him.  Among  his  comrades  he  found  con- 
genial spirits,  both  among  the  officers  and  the  men. 
Though  discipline  was  strict,  there  was  an  utter  absence 
of  anything  like  a  spirit  of  petty  bullying  which  too 
often  is  found  in  military  service;  for  in  the  first  place 
the  men  were  in  very  many  cases  the  equals  and  some- 
times the  superiors  of  the  officers  both  in  culture  and  in 
breeding,  and  further,  and  very  specially,  the  nature  of 
the  work  was  such  as  to  cultivate  the  spirit  of  true  com- 
radeship. When  officer  and  man  ride  side  by  side 
through  rain  and  shine,  through  burning  heat  and  frost 
"Forty  below,"  when  they  eat  out  of  the  same  pan  and 
sleep  in  the  same  "dug-out,"  when  they  stand  back  to 
back  in  the  midst  of  a  horde  of  howling  savages,  rank 
conies  to  mean  little  and  manhood  much. 

Between  Inspector  Dickson  and  Cameron  a  genuine 
friendship  sprang  up ;  and  after  his  first  month  was  in, 
Cameron  often  found  himself  the  comrade  of  the  In- 
spector in  expeditions  of  special  difficulty  where  there 
was  a  call  for  intelligence  and  nerve.  The  reports  of 
these  expeditions  that  stand  upon  the  police  record  have 


402  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

as  little  semblance  of  the  deeds  achieved  as  have  stark 
and  grinning  skeletons  in  the  medical  student's  private 
cupboard  to  the  living  moving  bodies  they  once  were. 
The  records  of  these  deeds  are  the  bare  bones.  The  flesh 
and  blood,  the  life  and  colour  are  to  be  found  only  in  the 
memories  of  those  who  were  concerned  in  their  achieve- 
ment. 

But  even  in  these  bony  records  there  are  to  be  seen 
frequent  entries  in  which  the  names  of  Inspector  Dickson 
and  Constable  Cameron  stand  side  by  side.  For  the  In- 
spector was  a  man  upon  whom  the  Commissioner  and 
the  Superintendent  delighted  to  load  their  more  danger- 
ous and  delicate  cases,  and  it  was  upon  Cameron  when 
it  was  possible  that  the  Inspector's  choice  for  a  comrade 
fell. 

It  was  such  a  case  as  this  that  held  the  Commissioner 
and  Superintendent  Crawford  in  anxious  consultation 
far  into  a  late  September  night.  When  the  consultation 
was  over,  Inspector  Dickson  was  called  in  and  the 
result  of  this  consultation  laid  before  him. 

"We  have  every  reason  to  believe,  as  you  well  know, 
Inspector  Dickson,"  said  the  Commissioner,  "that  there 
is  a  secret  and  wide-spread  propagandum  being  carried 
on  among  our  Indians,  especially  among  the  Piegans, 
Bloods,  and  Blackfeet,  with  the  purpose  of  organizing 
rebellion  in  connection  with  the  half-breed  discontent  in 
the  territories  to  the  east  of  us.  Eiel,  you  know,  has 
been  back  for  some  time  and  we  believe  his  agents  are 
busy  on  every  reservation  at  present.  This  outbreak  of 
horse-stealing  and  whiskey-smuggling  in  so  many  parts 
of  the  country  at  the  same  time  is  a  mere  blind  to  a 
more  serious  business,  the  hatching  of  a  very  wide  con- 
spiracy. We  know  that  the  Crees  and  the  Assiniboines 
are  negotiating  with  the  half-breeds.  Big  Bear,  Beardy, 


THE  MAKING  OF  BRAVES    403 

and  Little  Pine  are  keen  for  a  fight.  There  is  some  very 
powerful  and  secret  influence  at  work  among  our  Indians 
here.  We  suspect  that  the  ex-Chief  of  the  Bloods,  Little 
Thunder,  is  the  head  of  this  organization.  A  very  dan- 
gerous and  very  clever  Indian  he  is,  as  you  know.  We 
have  a  charge  of  murder  against  him  already,  and  if  we 
can  arrest  him  and  one  or  two  others  it  would  do  much 
to  break  up  the  gang,  or  at  least  to  hold  in  check  their 
organization  work.  We  want  you  to  get  quietly  after 
this  business,  visit  all  the  reservations,  obtain  all 
information  possible,  and  when  you  are  ready,  strike. 
You  will  be  quite  unhampered  in  your  movements  and 
the  whole  force  will  co-operate  with  you  if  necessary. 
We  consider  this  an  extremely  critical  time  and  we  must 
be  prepared.  Take  a  man  with  you.  Make  your  own 
choice." 

"I  expect  we  know  the  man  the  Inspector  will  choose," 
said  Superintendent  Crawford  with  a  smile. 

"Who  is  that?"  asked  the  Commissioner. 

"Constable  Cameron,  of  course." 

"Ah,  yes,  Cameron.  You  remember  I  predicted  he 
would  make  good.  He  has  certainly  fulfilled  my  expec- 
tation." 

"He  is  a  good  man,"  said  the  Inspector  quietly. 

"Oh  come,  Inspector,  you  know  you  consider  him  the 
best  all-round  man  at  this  post,"  said  the  Superintend- 
ent. 

"Well,  you  see,  Sir,  he  is  enthusiastic  for  the  service, 
he  works  hard  and  likes  his  wrork." 

"Right  you  are !"  exclaimed  the  Superintendent.  "In 
the  first  place,  he  is  the  strongest  man  on  the  force,  then 
he  is  a  dead  shot,  a  good  man  with  a  horse,  and  has 
developed  an  extraordinary  gift  in  tracking,  and  besides 
he  is  perfectly  straight." 


404  CORPORAL   CAMERON 

"Is  that  right,  Inspector?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  Inspector  very  quietly,  though  his 
eyes  were  gleaming  at  the  praise  of  his  friend.  "He 
is  a  good  man,  very  keen,  very  reliable,  and  of  course 
afraid  of  nothing." 

The  Superintendent  laughed  quietly. 

"You  want  him  then,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  Inspector,  "if  it  could  be  managed." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  Commissioner.  "That 
reminds  me."  He  took  a  letter  from  the  file.  "Read 
that,"  he  said,  "second  page  there.  It  is  a  private  letter 
from  Superintendent  Strong  at  Calgary." 

The  Inspector  took  the  letter  and  read  at  the  place 
indicated — 

"Another  thing.  The  handling  of  these  railroad  con- 
struction gangs  is  no  easy  matter.  We  are  pestered  with 
whiskey-smugglers,  gamblers,  and  prostitutes  till  we 
don't  know  which  way  to  turn.  As  the  work  extends 
into  the  mountains  and  as  the  camps  grow  in  numbers 
the  difficulty  of  control  is  very  greatly  increased.  I 
ought  to  have  my  force  strengthened.  Could  you  not 
immediately  spare  me  at  least  eight  or  ten  good  men? 
I  would  like  that  chap  Cameron,  the  man,  you  know, 
who  caught  the  half-breed  Louis  in  the  Sarcee  camp  and 
carried  him  out  on  his  horse's  neck — a  very  fine  bit  of 
work.  Inspector  Dickson  will  tell  you  about  him.  I 
had  it  from  him.  Could  you  spare  Cameron?  I  would 
recommend  him  at  once  as  a  sergeant." 

The  Inspector  handed  back  the  letter  without  com- 
ment. 

"Well?"  said  the  Commissioner. 

"Cameron  would  do  very  well  for  the  work,"  said  the 
Inspector,  "and  he  deserves  promotion." 

"What  was  that  Sarcee  business,  Inspector?"  enquired 


THE  MAKING  OF  BRAVES    403 

the  Commissioner.  "That  must  have  been  when  I  was 
down  east." 

"Oh,"  said  the  Inspector,  "it  was  a  very  fine  thing 
indeed  of  Cameron.  Louis  'the  Breed'  had  been  work- 
ing the  Bloods.  We  got  on  his  track  and  headed  him  up 
in  the  Sarcee  camp.  He  is  rather  a  dangerous  char- 
acter and  is  related  to  the  Sarcees.  We  expected  trouble 
in  his  arrest.  We  rode  in  and  found  the  Indians,  to  the 
number  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  or  more,  very  consider- 
ably excited.  They  objected  strenuously  to  the  arrest  of 
the  half-breed.  Constable  Cameron  and  I  were  alone.  We 
had  left  a  party  of  men  further  back  over  the  hill.  The 
half-breed  brought  it  upon  himself.  He  was  rash  enough 
to  make  a  sudden  attack  upon  Cameron.  That  is  where 
he  made  his  mistake.  Before  he  knew  where  he  was 
Cameron  slipped  from  his  horse,  caught  him  under  the 
chin  with  a  very  nice  left-hander  that  laid  him  neatly 
out,  swung  him  on  to  his  horse,  and  was  out  of  the  camp 
before  the  Indians  knew  what  had  happened." 

"The  Inspector  does  not  tell  you,"  said  Superin- 
tendent Crawford,  "how  he  stood  off  that  bunch  of 
Sarcees  and  held  them  where  they  were  till  Cameron  was 
safe  with  his  man  over  the  hill.  But  it  was  a  very  clever 
bit  of  work,  and,  if  I  may  say  it,  deserves  recognition." 

"I  should  like  to  give  you  Cameron  if  it  were  possible," 
said  the  Commissioner,  "but  this  railroad  business  is 
one  of  great  difficulty  and  Superintendent  Strong  is  not 
the  man  to  ask  for  assistance  unless  he  is  in  pretty 
desperate  straits.  An  unintelligent  or  reckless  man 
would  be  worse  than  useless." 

"How  would  it  do,"  suggested  the  Superintendent, 
"to  allow  Cameron  in  the  meantime  to  accompany  the 
Inspector?  Then  later  we  might  send  him  to  Superin- 
tendent Strong." 


406  CORPORAL    CAME  EON 

Reporting  this  arrangement  to  Cameron  a  little  later, 
the  Inspector  enquired : 

"How  would  you  like  to  have  a  turn  in  the  moun- 
tains? You  would  find  Superintendent  Strong  a  fine 
officer." 

"I  desire  no  change  in  that  regard,"  replied  Cameron. 
"But,  curiously  enough,  I  have  a  letter  this  very  mail 
that  has  a  bearing  upon  this  matter.  Here  it  is.  It  is 
from  an  old  college  friend  of  mine,  Dr.  Martin." 

The  Inspector  took  the  letter  and  read — 

"I  have  got  myself  used  up,  too  great  devotion  to 
scientific  research;  hence  I  am  accepting  an  offer  from 
the  railroad  people  for  work  in  the  mountains.  I  leave 
in  a  week.  Think  of  it !  The  muck  and  the  ruck,  the 
execrable  grub  and  worse  drink !  I  shall  have  to  work 
my  passage  on  hand  cars  and  doubtless  by  tie  pass.  My 
hands  will  lose  all  their  polish.  However,  there  may  be 
some  fun  and  likely  some  good  practice.  I  see  they  are 
blowing  themselves  up  at  a  great  rate.  Then,  too,  there 
is  the  prospective  joy  of  seeing  you,  of  wThom  quite 
wonderful  tales  have  floated  east  to  us.  I  am  told  you 
are  in  direct  line  for  the  position  of  the  High  Chief 
Muck-a-muck  of  the  Force.  Look  me  up  in  Superin- 
tendent Strong's  division.  I  believe  he  is  the  bulwark 
of  the  Empire  in  my  district. 

"A  letter  from  the  old  burgh  across  the  pond  tells  me 
your  governor  is  far  from  well.  Awfully  sorry  to  hear 
it.  It  is  rough  on  your  sister,  to  whom,  when  you  write, 
remember  your  humble  servant. 

"I  am  bringing  out  two  nurses  with  me,  both  your 
devotees.  Look  out  for  squalls.  If  you  get  shot  up  see 
that  you  select  a  locality  where  the  medical  attendance 
and  nursing  are  'A  I/  ' 

"It  would  be  awfully  good  to  see  the  old  boy,"  said 


THE  MAKING  OF  BRAVES    407 

Cameron  as  lie  took  the  letter  from  the  Inspector.  "He 
is  a  decent  chap  and  quite  up-to-date  in  his  profession." 

"What  about  the  nurses?"  enquired  the  Inspector 
gravely. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  them.  Never  knew  but  one.  A  good 
bright  little  soul  she  was.  Saw  me  through  a  typhoid 
trip.  Little  too  clever  sometimes,"  he  added,  remember- 
ing the  day  when  she  had  taken  her  fun  out  of  the  slow- 
footed,  slow-minded  farmer's  daughter. 

"Well,  said  the  Inspector,  "we  shall  possibly  come 
across  them  in  our  round-up.  This  is  rather  a  big  game, 
a  very  big  game  and  one  worth  playing." 

A  bigger  game  it  turned  out  than  any  of  the  players 
knew,  bigger  in  its  immediate  sweep  and  in  its  nation- 
wide issues. 

For  three  months  they  swept  the  plains,  haunting  the 
reservations  at  unexpected  moments.  But  though  they 
found  not  a  few  horses  and  cattle  whose  obliterated 
brands  seemed  to  warrant  confiscation,  and  though  there 
were  signs  for  the  instructed  eye  of  evil  doings  in  many 
an  Indian  camp,  yet  there  was  nothing  connected  with 
the  larger  game  upon  which  the  Inspector  of  Police 
could  lay  his  hand. 

Among  the  Bloods  there  were  frequent  sun-dances 
where  many  braves  were  made  and  much  firewater  drunk 
with  consequent  blood-letting.  Red  Crow  deprecated 
these  occurrences,  but  confessed  his  powerlessness  to 
prevent  the  flow  of  either  firewater  or  of  blood.  A  pri- 
vate conversation  with  the  Inspector  left  with  the  Chief 
some  food  for  thought,  however,  and  resulted  in  the 
cropping  of  the  mane  of  White  Horse,  of  whose  comings 
and  goings  the  Inspector  was  insistently  curious. 

On  the  Blackfeet  reservation  they  ran  into  a  great 
pow-wow  of  chiefs  from  far  and  near,  to  which  old 


408  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

Crowfoot  invited  the  representatives  of  the  Great  White 
Mother  with  impressive  cordiality,  an  invitation,  how- 
ever, which  the  Inspector,  such  was  his  strenuous  hunt 
for  stolen  horses,  was  forced  regretfully  to  decline. 

"Too  smooth,  old  boy,  too  smooth!"  was  the  Inspect- 
or's comment  as  they  rode  off.  "There  are  doings  there 
without  doubt.  Did  you  see  the  Cree  and  the  Assini- 
boine?" 

"I  could  not  pick  them  out,"  said  Cameron,  "but  I 
saw  Louis  the  Breed." 

"Ah,  you  did!  He  needs  another  term  at  the  Police 
sanatarium." 

They  looked  in  upon  the  Sarcees  and  were  relieved  to 
find  them  frankly  hostile.  They  had  not  forgotten  the 
last  visit  of  the  Inspector  and  his  friend. 

"That's  better,"  remarked  the  Inspector  as  they  left 
the  reservation.  "Neither  the  hostile  Indian  nor  the 
noisy  Indian  is  dangerous.  When  he  gets  smooth  and 
quiet  watch  him,  like  old  Crowfoot.  Sly  old  boy  he  is ! 
But  he  will  wait  till  he  sees  which  way  the  cat  jumps. 
He  is  no  leader  of  lost  causes." 

At  Morleyville  they  breathed  a  different  atmosphere. 
They  felt  themselves  to  be  among  friends.  The  hand  of 
the  missionary  here  was  upon  the  helm  of  government 
and  the  spirit  of  the  missionary  was  the  spirit  of  the 
tribe. 

"Any  trouble?"  enquired  the  Inspector. 

"We  have  a  great  many  visitors  these  days,"  said  the 
missionary.  "And  some  of  our  young  men  don't  like 
hunger,  and  the  offer  of  a  full  feast  makes  sweet  music 
in  their  ears." 

"Any  sun-dances?" 

"No,  no,  the  sun-dances  are  all  past.  Our  people  are 
no  longer  pagans/' 


THE  MAKING  OF  BRAVES    409 

"Good  man!"  was  the  Inspector's  comment  as  they 
took  up  the  trail  again  toward  the  mountains.  "And 
with  quite  a  sufficient  amount  of  the  wisdom  of  the 
serpent  in  his  guileless  heart.  We  need  not  watch  the 
Stonies.  Here's  a  spot  at  least  where  religion  pays. 
And  a  mighty  good  thing  for  us  just  now,"  added  the 
Inspector.  "These  Stonies  in  the  old  days  were  perfect 
devils  for  fighting.  They  are  a  mountain  people  and  for 
generations  kept  the  passes  against  all  comers.  But 
Macdougall  has  changed  all  that." 

Leaving  the  reservation,  they  came  upon  the  line  of 
the  railway. 

"There  lies  my  old  trail,"  said  Cameron.  "And  my 
last  camp  was  only  about  two  miles  west  of  here." 

"It  was  somewhere  here  that  Raven  fell  in  with  you?" 

"No,  some  ten  miles  off  the  line,  down  the  old  Koo- 
tenay  trail." 

"Aha!"  said  the  Inspector.  "It  might  not  be  a  bad 
idea  to  beat  up  that  same  old  trail.  It  is  quite  possible 
that  we  might  fall  in  with  your  old  friends." 

"It  would  certainly  be  a  great  pleasure,"  replied 
Cameron,  "to  conduct  Mr.  Raven  and  his  Indian  friend 
over  this  same  trail  as  they  did  me  some  nine  months 
ago." 

"We  will  take  a  chance  on  it,"  said  the  Inspector. 
"We  lose  time  going  back  the  other  way." 

Upon  the  site  of  Mclvors  survey  camp  they  found 
camped  a  large  construction  gang.  Between  the  lines 
of  tents,  for  the  camp-  was  ordered  in  streets  like  a  city, 
they  rode  till  they  came  to  the  headquarters  of  the 
Police,  and  enquired  for  the  Superintendent.  The 
Superintendent  had  gone  up  the  line,  the  Sergeant  in- 
formed them,  following  the  larger  construction  gangs. 
The  Sergeant  and  two  men  had  some  fifty  miles  of  line 


410  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

under  patrol,  with  some  ten  camps  of  various  kinds  on 
the  line  and  in  the  woods,  and  in  addition  they  had  the 
care  of  that  double  stream  of  humanity  flowing  in  and 
flowing  out  without  ceasing  day  or  night. 

As  the  Inspector  stepped  inside  the  Police  tent  Cam- 
eron's attention  was  arrested  by  the  sign  "Hospital'7 
upon  a  large  double-roofed  tent  set  on  a  wooden  floor 
and  guyed  with  more  than  ordinary  care. 

"Wonder  if  old  Martin  is  anywhere  about,"  he  said  to 
himself  as  he  rode  across  to  the  open  door. 

"Is  Dr.  Martin  in?"  he  enquired  of  a  Chinaman,  who 
appeared  from  a  tent  at  the  rear. 

"Doc  Matin  go ''way  'long  tlain." 

"When  will  he  come  back?"  demanded  Cameron. 

"Donno.    See  missy  woman." 

So  saying,  he  disappeared  into  the  tent  while  Cameron 
waited. 

"You  wish  to  see  the  doctor?  He  has  gone  west.  Oh ! 
Why,  it—" 

Cameron  was  off  his  horse,  standing  with  his  hat  in 
one  hand,  the  other  outstretched  toward  the  speaker. 

"Why!  it  cannot  be! — it  is — my  patient."  The  little 
nurse  had  his  hand  in  both  of  hers.  "Oh,  you  great  big 
monster  soldier!  Do  you  know  how  fine  you  look?" 

"No,"  replied  Cameron,  "but  I  do  know  how  perfectly 
fine  you  look." 

"Well,  don't  devour  me.    You  look  dangerous." 

"I  should  truly  love  one  little  bite." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Cameron,  stop!  You  terrible  man!  Right 
in  the  open  street!"  The  little  nurse's  cheeks  flamed 
red  as  she  quickly  glanced  about  her.  "What  would  Dr. 
Martin  say?" 

"Dr.  Martin !"  Cameron  laughed.  "Besides,  I  couldn't 
help  it." 


THE  MAKING  OF  BRAVES    411 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad !" 

"Thank  you,"  said  Cameron. 

"I  mean  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you.  They  told  us  you 
would  be  coming  to  join  us.  And  now  they  are  gone. 
What  a  pity !  They  will  be  so  disappointed." 

"Who,  pray,  will  be  thus  blighted?" 

Oh,  the  doctor  I  mean,  and — and" — here  her  eyes 
danced  mischievously — "the  other  nurse,  of  course.  But 
you  will  be  going  west?" 

"No,  south,  to-day,  and  in  a  few  minutes.  Here  comes 
the  Inspector.  May  I  present  him?" 

The  little  nurse's  snapping  eyes  glowed  with  plea- 
sure as  they  ran  over  the  tall  figure  of  the  Inspector  and 
rested  upon  his  fine  clean-cut  face.  The  Inspector  had 
just  made  his  farewell  to  the  Sergeant  preparatory  to  an 
immediate  departure,  fcut  it  was  a  full  half  hour  before 
they  rose  from  the  dainty  tea  table  where  the  little  nurse 
had  made  them  afternoon  tea  from  her  own  dainty  tea 
set. 

"It  makes  me  think  of  home,"  said  the  Inspector  with 
a  sigh  as  he  bent  over  the  little  nurse's  hand  in  grati- 
tude. "My  first  real  afternoon  tea  in  ten  years." 

"Poor  man !"  said  the  nurse.    "Come  again." 

"Ah,  if  I  could!" 

"But  you  are  coming?"  said  the  little  nurse  to  Cam- 
eron as  he  held  her  hand  in  farewell.  "I  heard  the  doctor 
say  you  were  coming  and  we  are  quite  wild  with  impa- 
tience over  it." 

Cameron  looked  at  the  Inspector. 

"I  had  thought  of  keeping  Cameron  at  Macleod,"  said 
the  latter.  "But  now  I  can  hardly  have  the  heart  to 
do  so." 

"Oh,  you  needn't  look  at  me  so,"  said  the  little  nurse 
with  a  saucy  toss  of  her  head.  "He  wouldn't  bother 


412  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

himself  about  me,  but — hut — there  is  another.  No,  I 
won't  tell  him."  And  she  laughed  gaily. 

Cameron  stood  mystified. 

"Another?  There  is  old  Martin  of  course,  but  there 
is  no  other.-" 

The  little  nurse  laughed,  this  time  scornfully. 

"Old  Martin  indeed!  He  is  making  a  shameless  pre- 
tence of  ignorance,  Inspector  Dickson." 

"Disgraceful  bluff  I  call  it,"  cried  the  Inspector. 

"Who  can  it  be?"  said  Cameron.  "I  really  don't  know 
any  nurse.  Of  course  it  can't  be — Mandy — Miss  Haley?" 
He  laughed  a  loud  laugh  almost  of  derision  as  he  made 
the  suggestion. 

"Ah,  he's  got  it !"  cried  the  nurse,  clapping  her  hands. 
"As  if  he  ever  doubted." 

"Good  Heavens!"  exclaimed  Cameron.  "You  don't 
mean  to  tell  me  that  Mandy — !  What  is  poor  Mandy 
doing  here?  Cooking?" 

"Cooking  indeed!"  exclaimed  the  nurse.  "Cooking 
indeed !  Just  let  the  men  in  this  camp,  from  John  here," 
indicating  the  Chinaman  at  the  rear  of  the  tent,  "to  the 
Sergeant  yonder,  hear  you  by  the  faintest  tone  indicate 
anything  but  adoration  for  Nurse  Haley,  and  you  will 
need  the  whole  Police  Force  to  deliver  you  from  their 
fury." 

"Good  Heavens !"  said  Cameron  in  an  undertone.  "A 
nurse!  With  those  hands!"  He  shuddered.  "I  mean, 
of  course — you  know — she's  awfully  good-hearted 
and  all  that,  but  as  a  nurse  you  know  she  is  impos- 
sible." 

The  little  nurse  laughed  long  and  joyously. 

"Oh,  this  is  fun !  I  wish  Dr.  Martin  could  hear  you. 
You  forget,  Sir,  that  for  a  year  and  a  half  she  has  had 
the  benefit  of  my  example  and  tuition." 


THE  MAKING  OF  BRAVES    413 

i 

"Think  of  that,  Cameron!"  murmured  the  Inspector 
reproachfully.  But  Cameron  only  shook  his  head. 

"Good-bye!"  he  said.  "No,  I  don't  think  I  pine  for 
mountain  scenery.  Eemember  me  to  Martin  and  to  Man 
— to  Nurse  Haley." 

"Good-bye!"  said  the  little  nurse.  "I  have  a  good 
mind  to  tell  them  what  you  said.  I  may.  Just  wait, 
though.  Some  day  you  will  very  humbly  beg  my  pardon 
for  that  slight  upon  my  assistant." 

"Slight?  Believe  me,  I  mean  none.  I  would  be  an 
awful  cad  if  I  did.  But — well,  you  know  as  well  as  I 
do  that,  good  soul  as  Mandy  is,  she  is  in  many  ways  im- 
possible." 

"Do  I?"  Again  the  joyous  laugh  pealed  out.  "Well, 
well,  come  back  and  see."  And  waving  her  hand  she 
stood  to  watch  them  down  the  trail. 

"Jolly  little  girl,"  said  the  Inspector,  as  they  turned 
from  the  railway  tote  road  down  the  coulee  into  the 
Kootenay  trail.  "But  wrho  is  this  other?" 

"Oh,"  said  Cameron  impatiently,  "I  feel  like  a  beastly 
cad.  She's  the  daughter  of  the  farmer  where  I  spent  a 
summer  in  Ontario,  a  good  simple-hearted  girl,  but  aw- 
fully— well — crude,  you  know.  And  yet — "  Cameron's 
speech  faded  into  silence,  for  his  memory  played  a  trick 
upon  him,  and  again  he  was  standing  in  the  orchard  on 
that  sunny  autumn  day  looking  into  a  pair  of  wonder- 
ful eyes,  and,  remembering  the  eyes,  he  forgot  his 
speech. 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  the  Inspector.    "I  understand." 

"No,  you  don't,"  said  Cameron  almost  rudely.  "You 
would  have  to  see  her  first.  By  Jove !"  He  broke  into  a 
laugh.  "It  is  a  joke  with  a  vengeance,"  and  relapsed 
into  silence  that  lasted  for  some  miles. 

That  night  they  slept  in  the  old  lumber  camp,  and  the 


414  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

afternoon  of  the  second  day  found  them  skirting  the 
Crow's  Nest. 

"We've  had  no  luck  this  trip,"  growled  the  Inspector, 
for  now  they  were  facing  toward  home. 

"Listen !"  said  Cameron,  pulling  up  his  horse  sharply. 
Down  the  pass  the  faraway  beat  of  a  drum  was  heard. 
It  was  the  steady  throb  of  the  tom-tom  rising  and  falling 
with  rhythmic  regularity. 

"Sun-dance,"  said  the  Inspector,  as  near  to  excite- 
ment as  he  generally  allowed  himself.  "Piegans." 

"Where?"  said  Cameron. 

"In  the  sun-dance  canyon,"  answered  the  Inspector. 
"I  believe  in  my  soul  we  shall  see  something  now.  Must 
be  two  miles  off.  Come  on." 

Though  late  in  December  the  ground  was  still  un- 
frozen and  the  new-made  government  trail  gave  soft 
footing  to  their  horses.  And  so  without  fear  of  detection 
they  loped  briskly  along  till  they  began  to  hear  rising 
above  the  throb  of  the  tom-tom  the  weird  chant  of  the 
Indian  sun-dancers. 

"They  are  right  down  in  the  canyon,"  said  the  In- 
spector. "I  know  the  spot  well.  We  can  see  them  from 
the  top.  This  is  their  most  sacred  place  and  there  is 
doubtless  something  big  going  on." 

They  left  the  main  trail  and,  dismounting,  led  their 
horses  through  the  scrubby  woods,  which  were  thick 
enough  to  give  them  cover  without  impeding  very  mate- 
rially their  progress.  Within  a  hundred  yards  of  the 
top  they  tied  their  horses  in  the  thicket  and  climbed  the 
slight  ascent.  Crawling  on  hands  and  knees  to  the  lip 
of  the  canyon,  they  looked  down  upon  a  scene  seldom 
witnessed  by  the  eyes  of  white  men. .  The  canyon  was  a 
long  narrow  valley,  whose  rocky  sides,  covered  with 
underbrush,  rose  some  sixty  feet  from  a  little  plain  about 


415 


fifty  yards  wide.  The  little  plain  was  filled  with,  the  In- 
dian encampment.  At  one  end  a  huge  fire  blazed.  At 
the  other,  and  some  fifty  yards  away,  the  lodges  were  set 
in  a  semicircle,  reaching  from  side  to  side  of  the  canyon, 
and  in  front  of  the  lodges  were  a  mass  of  Indian  war- 
riors, squatting  on  their  hunkers,  beating  time,  some 
with  tom-toms,  others  with  their  hands,  to  the  weirdly 
monotonous  chant,  that  rose  and  fell  in  response  to  the 
gesticulations  of  one  who  appeared  to  be  their  leader.  In 
the  centre  of  the  plain  stood  a  post  and  round  this  two 
circles  of  dancers  leaped  and  swayed.  In  the  outer  circle 
the  men,  with  clubs  and  rifles  in  their  hands,  recited  with 
pantomimic  gestures  their  glorious  deeds  in  the  war 
or  in  the  chase.  The  inner  circle  presented  a  ghastly 
and  horrid  spectacle.  It  was  composed  of  younger  men, 
naked  and  painted,  some  of  whom  were  held  to  the  top 
of  the  post  by  long  thongs  of  buffalo  hide  attached  to 
skewers  thrust  through  the  muscles  of  the  breast  or 
back.  Upon  these  thongs  they  swayed  and  threw  them- 
selves in  frantic  attempts  to  break  free.  With  others 
the  skewers  were  attached  by  thongs  to  buffalo  skulls, 
stones  or  heavy  blocks  of  wood,  which,  as  they  danced 
and  leaped,  tore  at  the  bleeding  flesh.  Bound  and  round 
the  post  the  naked  painted  Indians  leaped,  lurching  and 
swaying  from  side  to  side  in  their  desperate  efforts  to 
drag  themselves  free  from  those  tearing  skewers,  while 
round  them  from  the  dancing  circle  and  from  the  mass 
of  Indians  squatted  on  the  ground  rose  the  weird,  mad- 
dening, savage  chant  to  the  accompaniment  of  their  beat- 
ing hands  and  throbbing  drums. 

"This  is  a  big  dance,"  said  the  Inspector,  subduing  his 
voice  to  an  undertone,  though  in  the  din  there  was  little 
chance  of  his  being  heard.  "See !  many  braves  have  been 
made  already,"  he  added,  pointing  to  a  place  on  one  side 


416  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

of  the  fire  where  a  number  of  forms  could  be  seen,  some 
lying  flat,  some  rolling  upon  the  earth,  but  all  apparently 
more  or  less  in  a  stupor. 

Madder  and  madder  grew  the  drums,  higher  and 
higher  rose  the  chant.  Now  and  then  an  older  warrior 
from  the  squatting  circle  would  fling  his  blanket  aside 
and,  waving  his  rifle  high  in  the  air,  would  join  with  loud 
cries  and  wild  gesticulations  the  outer  circle  of  dancers. 

"It  is  a  big  thing  this,"  said  the  Inspector  again.  "No 
squaws,  you  see,  and  all  in  war  paint.  They  mean  busi- 
ness. We  must  get  closer." 

Cameron  gripped  him  by  the  arm. 

"Look !"  he  said,  pointing  to  a  group  of  Indians  stand- 
ing at  a  little  distance  beyond  the  lodges.  "Little 
Thunder  and  Raven !" 

"Yes,  by  Jove!"  said  the  Inspector.  "And  White 
Horse,  and  Louis  the  Breed  and  Rainy  Cloud  of  the 
Blackfeet.  A  couple  of  Sarcee  chaps,  I  see,  too,  some 
Piegans  and  Bloods;  the  rest  are  Crees  and  Assini- 
boines.  The  whole  bunch  are  here.  Jove,  what  a  killing 
if  we  could  get  them !  Let's  work  nearer.  Who  is  that 
speaking  to  them?" 

"That's  Raven,"  said  Cameron,  "and  I  should  like  to 
get  my  hands  on  him." 

"Steady  now,"  said  the  Inspector.  "We  must  make 
no  mistake." 

They  worked  along  the  top  of  the  ravine,  crawling 
through  the  bushes,  till  they  were  immediately  over  the 
little  group  of  which  Raven  was  the  centre.  Raven  was 
still  speaking,  the  half-breed  interpreting  to  the  Crees 
and  the  Assiniboines,  and  now  and  then,  as  the  noise 
from  the  chanting,  drumming  Indians  subsided,  the 
policemen  could  catch  a  few  words.  After  Raven  had 
finished  Little  Thunder  made  reply,  apparently  in  stren- 


uous  opposition.  Again  Haven  spoke  and  again  Little 
Thunder  made  reply.  The  dispute  waxed  warm.  Little 
Thunder's  former  attitude  towards  Kaven  appeared  to 
be  entirely  changed.  The  old  subservience  was  gone. 
The  Indian  stood  now  as  a  Chief  among  his  people  and 
as  such  was  recognized  in  that  company.  He  spoke  with 
a  haughty  pride  of  conscious  strength  and  authority. 
He  was  striving  to  bring  Raven  to  his  way  of  thinking. 
At  length  Eaven  appeared  to  throw  down  his  ultimatum. 

"No !"  he  cried,  and  his  voice  rang  up  clear  through 
the  din.  "You  are  fools !  You  are  like  little  partridges 
trying  to  frighten  the  hunter.  The  Great  White  Mother 
has  soldiers  like  the  leaves  of  the  trees.  I  know,  for  I 
have  seen  them.  Do  not  listen  to  this  man !"  pointing  to 
Little  Thunder.  "Anger  has  made  him  mad.  The  Police, 
with  their  big  guns  will  blow  you  to  pieces  like  this."  He 
seized  a  bunch  of  dead  leaves,  ground  them  in  his  hands 
and  puffed  the  fragments  in  their  faces. 

The  half-breed  and  Little  Thunder  were  beside  them- 
selves with  rage.  Long  and  loud  they  harangued  the 
group  about  them.  Only  a  little  of  their  neaning  could 
the  Inspector  gather,  but  enough  to  let  him  know  that 
they  were  looking  down  upon  a  group  of  conspirators 
and  that  plans  for  a  widespread  rebellion  were  being 
laid  before  them. 

Through  the  harangues  of  Little  Thunder  and  Louis 
the  half-breed  Eaven  stood  calmly  regarding  them,  his 
hands  on  his  hips.  He  knew  well,  as  did  the  men  watch- 
ing from  above,  that  all  that  stood  between  him  and 
death  were  those  same  two  hands  and  the  revolvers  in 
his  belt,  whose  butts  were  snugly  nosing  up  to  his  fingers. 
Little  Thunder  had  too  often  seen  those  fingers  close  and 
do  their  deadly  work  while  an  eyelid  might  wink  to 
venture  any  hasty  move. 


418  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

"Is  that  all?"  said  Eaven  at  last. 

Little  Thunder  made  one  final  appeal,  working  him- 
self up  into  a  fine  frenzy  of  passion.  Then  Haven  made 
reply. 

"Listen  to  me !"  he  said.  "It  is  all  folly,  mad  folly ! 
And  besides,"  and  here  his  voice  rang  out  like  a  trumpet, 
"I  am  for  the  Queen,  God  bless  her!"  His  figure 
straightened  up,  his  hands  dropped  on  the  butts  of  his 
guns. 

"By  Jove!"  exclaimed  Cameron.    "Isn't  that  great?" 

"Very  fine,  indeed,"  said  the  Inspector  softly.  Both 
men's  guns  were  lined  upon  the  conspirators. 

Then  the  half-breed  spoke,  shrugging  his  shoulders  in 
contempt. 

"Let  heem  go.  Bah!  No  good."  He  spat  upon  the 
ground. 

Raven  stood  as  he  was  for  a  few  moments,  smiling. 

"Good-bye,  all,"  he  said.  "Bon  jour.,  Louis.  Let  no 
man  move !  Let  no  man  move !  I  never  need  to  shoot  at 
a  man  twice.  Little  Thunder  knows.  And  don't  follow !" 
he  added.  "I  shall  be  waiting  behind  the  rocks." 

He  slowly  backed  away  from  the  group,  turned  in  be- 
hind a  sheltering  rock,  then  swiftly  began  to  climb  the 
rocky  sides  of  the  canyon.  The  moment  he  was  out  of 
sight  Little  Thunder  dodged  in  behind  the  ledges,  found 
his  rifle,  and,  making  a  wide  detour,  began  to  climb  the 
side  of  the  ravine  at  an  angle  which  would  cut  off 
Raven's  retreat.  All  this  took  place  in  full  view  of  the 
two  watchers  above. 

"Let's  get  that  devil,"  said  the  Inspector.  But  Cam- 
eron was  already  gone.  Swiftly  along  the  lip  of  the 
canyon  Cameron  ran  and  worked  his  way  down  the  side 
till  he  stood  just  over  the  sloping  ledge  upon  which  the 
Indian  was  crouched  and  waiting.  Along  this  ledge 


THE  MAKING  OF  BRAVES    419 

came  the  unconscious  Raven,  softly  whistling  to  himself 
his  favourite  air, 

"Three  cheers  for  the  red,  white  and  blue," 

There  was  no  way  of  warning  him.  Three  steps  more 
and  he  would  be  within  range.  The  Inspector  raised  his 
gun  and  drew  a  bead  upon  the  crouching  Indian. 

"Wait!"  whispered  Cameron.  "Don't  shoot.  It  will 
bring  them  all  down  on  us."  Gathering  himself  together 
as  he  spoke,  he  vaulted  clear  over  the  edge  of  the  rock  and 
dropped  fair  upon  the  shoulders  of  the  Indian  below, 
knocking  the  breath  completely  out  of  him  and  bearing 
him  flat  to  the  rock.  Like  a  flash  Cameron's  hand  was 
on  the  Indian's  throat  so  that  he  could  make  no  outcry. 
A  moment  later  Raven  came  in  view.  Swifter  than  light 
his  guns  were  before  his  face  and  levelled  at  Cameron. 

"Don't  shoot !"  said  the  Inspector  quietly  from  above. 
"I  have  you  covered." 

Perilous  as  the  situation  was,  Cameron  was  conscious 
only  of  the  humourous  side  of  it  and  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"Come  here,  Raven,"  he  said,  "and  help  me  to  tie  up 
this  fellow."  Slowly  Raven  moved  forward. 

"Why,  by  all  the  gods !  If  it  isn't  our  long-lost  friend, 
Cameron,"  he  said  softly,  putting  up  his  guns.  "All 
right,  old  man,"  he  added,  nodding  up  at  the  Inspector. 
"Now,  what's  all  this?  Wrhat?  Little  Thunder?  So! 
Then  I  fancy  I  owe  my  life  to  you,  Cameron." 

Cameron  pointed  to  Little  Thunder's  gun.  Raven 
stood  looking  down  upon  the  Indian,  who  was  recover- 
ing his  wind  and  his  senses.  His  face  suddenly  dark- 
ened. 

"You  treacherous  dog!  Well,  we  are  now  nearly 
quits.  Once  you  saved  my  life,  now  you  would  have 
taken  it." 


420  COBPOEAL   CAMERON 

Meantime  Cameron  had  handcuffed  Little  Thunder. 

"Up !"  he  said,  prodding  him  with  his  revolver.  "And 
not  a  sound!" 

Keeping  within  cover  of  the  bushes,  they  scrambled 
up  the  ravine  side.  As  they  reached  the  top  the  Indian 
with  a  mighty  wrench  tore  himself  from  Cameron's  grip 
and  plunged  into  the  thicket.  Before  he  had  taken  a 
second  step,  however,  the  Inspector  was  upon  him  like 
a  tiger  and  bore  him  to  the  ground. 

"Will  you  go  quietly,"  said  the  Inspector,  "or  must 
we  knock  you  on  the  head?"  He  raised  his  pistol  over 
the  Indian  as  he  spoke. 

"I  go,"  grunted  the  Indian  solemnly. 

"Come,  then,"  said  the  Inspector,  "we'll  give  you  one 
chance  more.  Where's  your  friend?"  he  added,  looking 
about  him.  But  Raven  was  gone. 

"I  am  just  as  glad,"  said  Cameron,  remembering 
Raven's  declaration  of  allegiance  a  few  moments  before. 
"He  wasn't  too  bad  a  chap  after  all.  We  have  this  devil 
anyhow." 

"Quick,  now,"  said  the  Inspector.  "We  have  not  a 
moment  to  lose.  This  is  an  important  capture.  How 
the  deuce  we  are  to  get  him  to  the  Fort  I  don't  know." 

Through  the  bushes  they  hurried  their  prisoner, 
threatening  him  with  their  guns.  WTien  they  came  to 
their  horses  they  were  amazed  to  find  Little  Thunder's 
pony  beside  their  own  and  on  the  Inspector's  saddle  a 
slip  of  paper  upon  which  in  the  fading  light  they  found 
inscribed  "One  good  turn  deserves  another.  With  Mr. 
Raven's  compliments." 

"By  Jove,  he's  a  trump!"  said  the  Inspector.  "I'd 
like  to  get  him,  but  all  the  same — " 

And  so  they  rode  off  to  the  Fort. 


NURSE    HALEY  421 


CHAPTER  VIII 

NURSE  HALEY 

THE  railway  construction  had  reached  the  Beaver, 
and  from  Laggan  westward  the  construction 
gangs  were  strewn  along  the  line  in  straggling 
camps,  straggling  because,  though  the  tents  of  the  rail- 
way men  were  set  in  orderly  precision,  the  crowds  of 
camp-followers  spread  themselves  hither  and  thither  in 
disorderly  confusion  around  the  outskirts  of  the  camp. 

To  Cameron,  who  for  a  month  had  been  attached  to 
Superintendent  Strong's  division,  the  life  was  full  of 
movement  and  colour.  The  two  constables  and  Sergeant 
Ferry  found  the  duty  of  keeping  order  among  the  navvies, 
but  more  especially  among  the  outlaw  herd  that  lay  in 
wait  to  fling  themselves  upon  their  monthly  pay  like 
wolves  upon  a  kill,  sufficiently  arduous  to  fill  to  reple- 
tion the  hours  of  the  day  and  often  of  the  night. 

The  hospital  tent  where  the  little  nurse  reigned 
supreme  became  to  Cameron  and  to  the  Sergeant  as  well 
a  place  of  refuge  and  relief.  Nurse  Haley  was  in  charge 
further  down  the  line. 

The  post  had  just  come  in  and  with  it  a  letter  for  Con- 
stable Cameron.  It  was  from  Inspector  Dickson. 

"You  will  be  interested  to  know,"  it  ran,  "that  when  I 
returned  from  Stand  Off  two  days  ago  I  found  that  Little 
Thunder,  who  had  been  waiting  here  for  his  hanging  next 
month,  had  escaped.  How,  was  a  mystery  to  every- 
body ;  but  when  I  learned  that  a  stranger  had  been  at  the 
Fort  and  had  called  upon  the  Superintendent  with  a 
tale  of  horse-stealing,  had  asked  to  see  Little  Thunder 


422  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

and  identified  him  as  undoubtedly  the  thief,  and  had  left 
that  same  day  riding  a  particularly  fine  black  broncho, 
I  made  a  guess  that  we  had  been  honoured  by  a  visit 
from  your  friend  Raven.  That  guess  was  confirmed  as 
correct  by  a  little  note  which  I  found  waiting  me  from 
this  same  gentleman  explaining  Little  Thunder's  absence 
as  being  due  to  Raven's  unwillingness  to  see  a  man  go  to 
the  gallows  who  had  once  saved  his  life,  but  conveying 
the  assurance  that  the  Indian  was  leaving  the  country  for 
good  and  would  trouble  us  no  more.  The  Superintend- 
ent, who  seems  to  have  been  captured  by  your  friend's 
charm  of  manner,  does  not  appear  to  be  unduly  worried 
and  holds  the  opinion  that  we  are  well  rid  of  Little 
Thunder.  But  I  venture  to  hold  a  different  opinion, 
namely,  that  we  shall  yet  hear  from  that  Indian  brave 
before  the  winter  is  over. 

"Things  are  quiet  on  the  reservations — altogether  too 
quiet.  The  Indians  are  so  exceptionally  well  behaved 
that  there  is  no  excuse  for  arresting  any  suspects,  so 
White  Horse,  Rainy  Cloud,  those  Piegan  chaps,  and  the 
rest  of  them  are  allowed  to  wander  about  at  will.  The 
country  is  full  of  Indian  and  half-breed  runners  and 
nightly  pow-wows  are  the  vogue  everywhere.  Old  Crow- 
foot, I  am  convinced,  is  playing  a  deep  game  and  is 
simply  waiting  the  fitting  moment  to  strike. 

"How  is  the  little  nurse?  Present  my  duty  to  her  and 
to  that  other  nurse  over  whom  hangs  so  deep  a  mystery." 

Cameron  folded  up  his  letter  and  imparted  some  of  the 
news  to  the  Sergeant. 

"That  old  Crowfoot  is  a  deep  one,  sure  enough,"  said 
Sergeant  Ferry.  "It  takes  our  Chief  here  to  bring  him 
to  time.  Superintendent  Strong  has  the  distinction  of 
being  the  only  man  that  ever  tamed  old  Crowfoot.  Have 
you  never  heard  of  it?  No?  Well,  of  course,  we  don't 


NURSE    HALEY  423 

talk  about  these  things.  I  was  there  though,  and  for 
cold  iron  nerve  I  never  saw  anything  like  it.  It  was  a 
bad  half-breed,"  continued  Sergeant  Ferry,  who,  when  he 
found  a  congenial  and  safe  companion,  loved  to  spin  a 
yarn — "a  bad  half-breed  who  had  been  arrested  away 
down  the  line,  jumped  off  the  train  and  got  away  to  the 
Blackfeet.  The  Commissioner  happened  to  be  in  Calgary 
and  asked  the  Superintendent  himself  to  see  about  the 
capture  of  this  desperado.  So  with  a  couple  of  us 
mounted  and  another  driving  a  buckboard  we  made  for 
Chief  Crowfoot's  encampment.  It  was  a  black  night  and 
raining  a  steady  drizzle.  We  lay  on  the  edge  of  the  camp 
for  a  couple  of  hours  in  the  rain  and  then  at  early  dawn 
we  rode  in.  It  took  the  Superintendent  about  two  min- 
utes to  locate  Crowfoot's  tent,  and,  leaving  us  outside,  he 
walked  straight  in.  There  was  our  man,  as  large  as  life, 
in  the  place  of  honour  beside  old  Crowfoot.  The  inter- 
preter, who  was  scared  to  death,  afterwards  told  me  all 
about  it. 

"  <I  want  this  man/  said  the  Superintendent,  hardly 
waiting  to  say  good-day  to  the  old  Chief  . 

"Crowfoot  was  right  up  and  ready  for  a  fight.  The 
Superintendent,  without  ever  letting  go  the  half-breed'8 
shoulder,  set  out  the  case.  Meantime  the  Indians  had 
gathered  in  hundreds  about  the  tent  outside,  all  armed, 
and  wild  for  blood,  you  bet.  I  could  hear  the  Superin- 
tendent making  his  statement.  All  at  once  he  stopped 
and  out  he  came  with  his  man  by  the  collar,  old  Crowfoot 
after  him  in  a  fury,  but  afraid  to  give  the  signal  of  attack. 
The  Indians  were  keen  to  get  at  us,  but  the  old  Chief  had 
his  men  in  hand  all  right. 

"  'Don't  think  you  will  not  get  justice/  said  the  Super- 
intendent. 'You  come  yourself  and  see.  Here's  a  pass 
for  you  on  the  railroad  and  for  any  three  of  your  men. 


424 


But  let  me  warn  you  that  if  one  hair  of  my  men  is 
touched,  it  will  be  a  bad  day  for  you,  Crowfoot,  and  for 
your  band/ 

"He  bundled  his  man  into  the  buckboard  and  sent  him 
off.  The  Superintendent  and  I  waited  on  horseback  in 
parley  with  old  Crowfoot  till  the  buckboard  was  over 
the  hill.  Such  a  half  hour  I  never  expect  to  see  again.  I 
felt  like  a  man  standing  over  an  open  keg  of  gunpowder 
with  a  lighted  match.  Any  moment  a  spark  might  fall, 
and  then  good-bye.  And  it  is  this  same  nerve  of  his  that 
holds  down  these  camps  along  this  line.  Here  we  are 
with  twenty-five  men  from  Laggan  to  Beaver  keeping 
order  among  twenty-five  hundred  railroad  navvies, 
not  a  bad  lot,  and  twenty-five  hundred  others,  the 
scum,  the  very  devil's  scum  from  across  the  line,  and 
not  a  murder  all  these  months.  Whiskey,  of  course, 
but  all  under  cover.  I  tell  you,  he's  put  the  fear  of 
death  on  all  that  tinhorn  bunch  that  hang  around  these 
camps." 

"There  doesn't  seem  to  be  much  trouble  just  now," 
remarked  Cameron. 

"Trouble?  There  may  be  the  biggest  kind  of  trouble 
any  day.  Some  of  these  contractors  are  slow  in  their 
pay.  They  expect  men  to  wait  a  month  or  two.  That 
makes  them  mad  and  the  tinhorn  bunch  keep  stirring  up 
trouble.  Might  be  a  strike  any  time,  and  then  look  out. 
But  our  Chief  will  be  ready  for  them.  He  won't  stand 
any  nonsense,  you  bet." 

At  this  point  in  the  Sergeant's  rambling  yarn  the  door 
was  flung  open  and  a  man  called  breathlessly,  "Man 
killed!" 

"How  is  that?"  cried  the  Sergeant,  springing  to  buckle 
on  his  belt. 

"An  accident — car  ran  away — down  the  dump." 


NURSE    HALEY  425 

"They  are  altogether  too  flip  with  those  cars,"  growled 
the  Sergeant.  "Come  on !" 

They  ran  down  the  road  and  toward  the  railroad  dump 
where  they  saw  a  crowd  of  men.  The  Sergeant,  followed 
by  Cameron,  pushed  his  way  through  and  found  a  num- 
ber of  navvies  frantically  tearing  at  a  pile  of  jagged 
blocks  of  rock  under  which  could  be  seen  a  human  body. 
It  took  only  a  few  minutes  to  remove  the  rocks  and  to 
discover  lying  there  a  young  man,  a  mere  lad,  from  whose 
mangled  and  bleeding  body  the  life  appeared  to  have 
fled. 

As  they  stood  about  him,  a  huge  giant  of  a  man  came 
tearing  his  way  through  the  crowd,  pushing  men  to  right 
and  left. 

"Let  me  see  him,"  he  cried,  dropping  on  his  knees. 
"Oh  Jack,  lad,  they  have  done  for  you  this  time." 

As  he  spoke  the  boy  opened  his  eyes,  looked  upon  the 
face  of  his  friend,  smiled  and  lay  still.  Then  the  Ser- 
geant took  command. 

"Is  the  doctor  back,  does  anyone  know?" 

"No,  he's  up  the  line  yet.  He  is  coming  in  on  number 
seven." 

"Well,  we  must  get  this  man  to  the  hospital.  Here, 
you,"  he  said,  touching  a  man  on  the  arm,  "run  and  tell 
the  nurse  we  are  bringing  a  wounded  man." 

They  improvised  a  stretcher  and  laid  the  mangled 
form  upon  it,  the  blood  streaming  from  wounds  in  his 
legs  and  trickling  from  his  pallid  lips. 

"Here,  two  men  are  better  than  four.  Cameron,  you 
take  the  head,  and  you,"  pointing  to  Jack's  friend,  "take 
his  feet.  Steady  now!  I'll  just  go  before.  This  is  a 
ghastly  sight." 

At  the  door  of  the  hospital  tent  the  little  nurse  met 
them,  pale,  but  ready  for  service. 


426  CORPORAL   CAMERON 

"Oh,  my  poor  boy!"  she  cried,  as  she  saw  the  white 
face.  "This  way,  Sergeant,"  she  added,  passing  into  a 
smaller  tent  at  one  side  of  the  hospital.  "Oh,  Mr.  Cam- 
eron, is  that  you?  I  am  glad  you  are  here." 

"Has  Nurse  Haley  come?"  enquired  the  Sergeant. 

"Yes,  she  came  in  last  night,  thank  goodness.  Here, 
on  this  table,  Sergeant.  Oh  I  wish  the  doctor  were 
here !  Now  we  must  lift  him  on  to  this  stretcher.  Ah, 
here's  Nurse  Haley,"  she  added  in  a  relieved  voice,  and 
before  Cameron  was  aware,  a  girl  in  a  nurse's  uni- 
form stood  by  him  and  appeared  quietly  to  take  com- 
mand. 

"Here  Sergeant,"  she  said,  "two  men  take  his  feet." 
She  put  her  arms  under  the  boy's  shoulder  and  gently 
and  with  apparent  ease,  assisted  by  the  others,  lifted 
him  to  the  table.  "A  little  further — there.  Now  you  are 
easier,  aren't  you?"  she  said,  smiling  down  into  the  lad's 
face.  Her  voice  was  low  and  soft  and  full  toned. 

"Yes,  thank  you,"  said  the  boy,  biting  back  his  groans 
and  with  a  pitiful  attempt  at  a  smile. 

"You're  fine  now,  Jack.  You'll  soon  be  fixed  up  now," 
said  his  friend. 

"Yes  Pete,  I'm  all  right,  I  know." 

"Oh,  I  wish  the  doctor  were  here !"  groaned  the  little 
nurse. 

"What  about  a  hypo?"  enquired  Nurse  Haley  quietly. 

"Yes,  yes,  give  him  one." 

Cameron's  eyes  followed  the  firm,  swift-moving  fin- 
gers as  they  deftly  gave  the  hypodermic. 

"Now  we  must  get  this  bleeding  stopped,"  she  said. 

"Get  them  all  out,  Sergeant,  please,"  said  the  little 
nurse.  "One  or  two  will  do  to  help  us.  You  stay,  Mr. 
Cameron." 

At  the  mention  of  his  name  Nurse  Haley,  who  had 


NURSE    HALEY  427 

been  busy  preparing  bandages,  dropped  them,  turned, 
and  for  the  first  time  looked  Cameron  in  the  face. 

"Is  it  you?"  she  said  softly,  and  gave  him  her  hand, 
and,  as  more  than  once  before,  Cameron  found  himself 
suddenly  forgetting  all  the  world.  He  was  looking  into 
her  eyes,  blue,  deep,  wonderful. 

It  was  only  for  a  single  moment  that  his  eyes  held 
hers,  but  to  him  it  seemed  as  if  he  had  been  in  some  far 
away  land.  Without  a  single  word  of  greeting  he  allowed 
her  to  withdraw  her  hand.  Wonder,  and  something  he 
could  not  understand,  held  him  dumb. 

For  the  next  half  hour  he  obeyed  orders,  moving  as  in 
a  dream,  assisting  the  nurses  in  their  work;  and  in  a 
dream  he  went  away  to  his  own  quarters  and  thence  out 
and  over  the  dump  and  along  the  tote  road  that  led 
through  the  straggling  shacks  and  across  the  river  into 
the  forest  beyond.  But  of  neither  river  nor  forest  was 
he  aware.  Before  his  eyes  there  floated  an  illusive  vision 
of  masses  of  fluffy  golden  hair  above  a  face  of  radiant 
purity,  of  deft  fingers  moving  in  swift  and  sure  precision 
as  they  wound  the  white  rolls  of  bandages  round  bloody 
and  broken  flesh,  of  two  round  capable  arms  whose 
lines  suggested  strength  and  beauty,  of  a  firm  knit, 
pliant  body  that  moved  with  easy  sinuous  grace,  of 
eyes — but  ever  at  the  eyes  he  paused,  forgetting  all  else, 
till,  recalling  himself,  he  began  again,  striving  to  catch 
and  hold  that  radiant,  bewildering,  illusive  vision.  That 
was  a  sufficiently  maddening  process,  but  to  relate  that 
vision  of  radiant  efficient  strength  and  grace  to  the  one 
he  carried  of  the  farmer's  daughter  with  her  dun- 
coloured  straggling  hair,  her  muddy  complexion,  her 
stupid  face,  her  clumsy,  grimy  hands  and  heavy  feet, 
her  sloppy  figure,  was  quite  impossible.  After  long 
and  strenuous  attempts  he  gave  up  the  struggle. 


428  CORPORAL   CAMERON 

"Mandy!"  he  exclaimed  aloud  to  the  forest  trees. 
"That  Mandy!  What's  gone  wrong  with  my  eyes,  or 
am  I  clean  off  my  head?  I  will  go  back,"  he  said  with 
sudden  resolution,  "and  take  another  look." 

Straight  back  he  walked  to  the  hospital,  but  at  the 
door  he  paused.  Why  was  he  there?  He  had  no  excuse 
to  offer  and  without  excuse  he  felt  he  could  not  enter. 
He  was  acting  like  a  fool.  He  turned  away  and  once 
more  sought  his  quarters,  disgusted  with  himself  that 
he  should  be  disturbed  by  the  thought  of  Mandy  Haley 
or  that  it  should  cause  him  a  moment's  embarrassment 
to  walk  into  her  presence  with  or  without  excuse, 
determinedly  he  set  himself  to  regain  his  one-time 
attitude  of  mind  toward  the  girl.  With  little  difficulty 
he  recalled  his  sense  of  superiority,  his  kindly  pity,  his 
desire  to  protect  her  crude  simplicity  from  those  who 
might  do  her  harm.  With  a  vision  of  that  Mandy  before 
him,  the  drudge  of  the  farm,  the  butt  of  Perkins'  jokes, 
the  object  of  pity  for  the  neighbourhood,  he  could  readily 
summon  up  all  the  feelings  he  had  at  one  time  consid- 
ered it  the  correct  and  rather  fine  thing  to  cherish  for 
her.  But  for  this  young  nurse,'  so  thoroughly  fur- 
nished and  fit,  and  so  obviously  able  to  care  for  herself, 
these  feelings  would  not  come.  Indeed,  it  made  him 
squirm  to  remember  how  in  his  farewell  in  the  orchard 
he  had  held  her  hand  in  gentle  pity  for  her  foolish  and 
all  too  evident  infatuation  for  his  exalted  and  superior 
self.  His  groan  of  self-disgust  he  hastily  merged  into 
a  cough,  for  the  Sergeant  had  his  eyes  upon  him.  In- 
deed, the  Sergeant  did  not  help  his  state  of  mind,  for 
he  persisted  in  executing  a  continuous  fugue  of  ecstatic 
praise  of  Nurse  Haley  in  various  keys  and  tempos,  her 
pluck,  her  cleverness,  her  skill,  her  patience,  her  jolly 
laugh,  her  voice,  her  eyes.  To  her  eyes  the  Sergeant 


NURSE    HALEY  429 

ever  kept  harking  back  as  to  the  main  motif  of  his  fugue, 
till  Cameron  would  have  dearly  loved  to  chuck  him 
and  his  fugue  out  of  doors. 

He  was  saved  from  deeds  of  desperate  violence  by  a 
voice  at  the  door. 

"Letta  fo'  Mis  Camelon!" 

"Hello,  Cameron!"  exclaimed  the  Sergeant,  handing 
him  the  note.  "You're  in  luck."  There  was  no  mistak- 
ing the  jealousy  in  the  Sergeant's  voice. 

"Oh,  hang  it !"  said  Cameron  as  he  read  the  note. 

"What's  up?" 

"Tea!" 

"Who?"  enquired  the  Sergeant  eagerly. 

"Me.    I  say,  you  go  in  my  place." 

The  Sergeant  swore  at  him  frankly  and  earnestly. 

"All  right  John,"  said  Cameron  rather  ungraciously. 

"You  come?"  enquired  the  Chinaman. 

"Yes,  I'll  come." 

"All  lite !"  said  John,  turning  away  with  his  message. 

"Confound  the  thing!"  growled  Cameron. 

"Oh  come,  you  needn't  put  up  any  bluff  with  me,  you 
know,"  said  the  Sergeant. 

But  Cameron  made  no  reply.  He  felt  he  was  not 
ready  for  the  interview  before  him.  He  was  distinctly 
conscious  of  a  feeling  of  nervous  embarrassment,  which 
to  a  man  of  experience  is  disconcerting  and  annoying. 
He  could  not  make  up  his  mind  as  to  the  attitude  which 
it  would  be  wise  and  proper  for  him  to  assume  toward 
— ah — Nurse  Haley.  Why  not  resume  relations  at  the 
point  at  which  they  were  broken  off  in  the  orchard  that 
September  afternoon  a  year  and  a  half  ago?  Why  not? 
Mandy  was  apparently  greatly  changed,  greatly  im- 
proved. Well,  he  was  delighted  at  the  improvement, 
and  he  would  frankly  let  her  see  his  pleasure  and 


430 


approval.  There  was  no  need  for  embarrassment. 
Pshaw!  Embarrassment?  He  felt  none. 

And  yet  as  he  stood  at  the  door  of  the  nurses'  tent 
he  was  disquieted  to  find  himself  nervously  wondering 
what  in  thunder  he  should  talk  about.  As  it  turned  out 
there  was  no  cause  for  nervousness  on  this  score.  The 
little  nurse  and  the  doctor — Nurse  Haley  being  on  duty 
— kept  the  stream  of  talk  rippling  and  sparkling  in  an 
unbroken  flow.  Whenever  a  pause  did  occur  they 
began  afresh  with  Cameron  and  his  achievements,  of 
which  they  strove  to  make  him  talk.  But  they  ever 
returned  to  their  own  work  among  the  sick  and  wounded 
of  the  camps,  and  as  often  as  they  touched  this  theme 
the  pivot  of  their  talk  became  Nurse  Haley,  till  Cam- 
eron began  to  suspect  design  and  became  wrathful. 
They  were  talking  at  him  and  were  taking  a  rise  out  of 
him.  He  would  show  them  their  error.  He  at  once 
became  brilliant. 

In  the  midst  of  his  scintillation  he  abruptly  paused 
and  sat  listening.  Through  the  tent  walls  came  the 
sound  of  singing,  low-toned,  rich,  penetrating.  He 
had  no  need  to  ask  about  that  voice.  In  silence  they 
looked  at  him  and  at  each  other. 

"We're  going  home,  no  more  to  roam, 

No  more  to  sin  and  sorrow, 
No  more  to  wear  the  brow  of  care, 
We're  going  home  to-morrow. 

"We're  going  home;  we're  going  home; 
We're  going  home  to-morrow." 

Softer  and  softer  grew  the  music.  At  last  the  voice 
fell  silent.  Then  Nurse  Haley  appeared,  radiant,  fresh, 
and  sweet  as  a  clover  field  with  the  morning  dew  upon 
it,  but  with  a  light  as  of  another  world  upon  her  face. 


NURSE    HALEY  431 

With  the  spell  of  her  voice,  of  her  eyes,  of  her  radiant 
face  upon  him,  Cameron's  scintillation  faded  and 
snuffed  out.  He  felt  like  a  boy  at  his  first  party  and 
enraged  at  himself  for  so  feeling.  How  bright  she  was, 
how  pure  her  face  under  the  brown  gold  hair,  how 
dainty  the  bloom  upon  her  cheek,  and  that  voice  of  hers, 
and  the  firm  lithe  body  with  curving  lines  of  budding 
womanhood,  grace  in  every  curve  and  movement!  The 
Mandy  of  old  faded  from  his  mind.  Have  I  seen  you 
before?  And  where?  And  how  long  ago?  And  what's 
happening  to  me?  With  these  questions  he  vexed  his 
soul  while  he  strove  to  keep  track  of  the  conversation 
between  the  three. 

A  call  from  the  other  tent  summoned  Nurse  Haley. 

"Let  me  go  instead,"  cried  the  little  nurse  eagerly. 
But,  light-footed  as  a  deer,  Mandy  was  already  gone. 

When  the  tent  flap  had  fallen  behind  her  Cameron 
pushed  back  his  plate,  leaned  forward  upon  the  table 
and,  looking  the  little  nurse  full  in  the  face,  said : 

"Now,  it's  no  use  carrying  this  on.  What  have  you 
done  to  her?"  And  the  little  nurse  laughed  her  brightest 
and  most  joyous  laugh. 

"What  has  she  done  to  us,  you  mean." 

"No.  Come  now,  take  pity  on  a  fellow.  I  left  her — 
well — you  know  what.  And  now — how  has  this  been 
accomplished?" 

"Soul,  my  boy,"  said  the  doctor  emphatically,  "and 
the  hairdresser  and — " 

But  Cameron  ignored  him 

"Can  you  tell  me?"  he  said  to  the  nurse. 

"Well,  as  a  nurse,  is  she  quite  impossible?" 

"Oh,  spare  me,"  pleaded  Cameron.  "I  acknowledge 
my  sin  and  my  folly  is  before  me.  But  tell  me,'  how  was 
this  miracle  wrought?" 


432  CORPORAL   CAMERON 

"What  do  you  mean  exactly?    Specify." 

"Oh,  hang  it !  Well,  beginning  at  the  top,  there's  her 
hair." 

"Her  hair?" 

"Yes." 

"Then,  her  complexion — her  grace  of  form — her  style 
— her  manner.  Oh,  confound  it!  Her  hands — every- 
thing." 

"Well,"  said  the  little  nurse  with  deliberation,  "let's 
begin  at  the  top.  Her  hair?  A  hairdresser  explains 
that.  Her  complexion?  A  little  treatment,  massage, 
with  some  help  from  the  doctor.  Her  hands?  Again 
treatment  and  release  from  brutalising  work.  Her 
figure?  Well,  you  know,  that  depends,  though  we  don't 
acknowledge  it  always,  to  a  certain  extent  on — well — 
things — and  how  you  put  them  on." 

"Nurse,"  said  the  doctor  gravely,  "you're  all  off.  The 
transformation  is  from  within  and  is  explained,  as  I 
have  said,  by  one  word — soul.  The  soul  has  been  set 
free,  has  been  allowed  to  break  through.  That  is  all. 
Why,  my  dear  fellow,"  continued  the  doctor  with  rising 
enthusiasm,  "when  that  girl  came  to  us  we  were  in 
despair;  and  for  three  months  she  kept  us  there,  pur- 
suing us,  hounding  us  with  questions.  Never  saw  any- 
thing like  it  One  telling  was  enough  though.  Her 
eyes  were  everywhere,  her  ears  open  to  every  hint,  but 
it  was  her  soul,  like  a  bird  imprisoned  and  beating  for 
the  open  air.  The  explanation  is,  as  I  have  said  just 
now,  soul — intense,  flaming,  unquenchable  soul — and, 
I  must  say  it,  the  dressmaker,  the  hairdresser,  and  the 
rest  directed  by  our  young  friend  here,"  pointing  to  the 
little  nurse,  "Why,  she  had  us  all  on  the  job.  We  all 
became  devotees  of  the  Haley  Cult." 

"No,"  said  the  nurse,  "it  was  herself." 


NURSE    HALEY 


"Isn't  that  what  I  have  been  telling  you?"  said  the 
doctor  impatiently.  "Soul — soul — soul!  A  soul  some- 
how on  fire." 

And  with  that  Cameron  had  to  be  content. 

Yes,  a  soul  it  was,  at  one  time  dormant  and  enwrapped 
within  its  coarse  integument.  Now,  touched  into  life 
by  some  divine  fire,  it  had  through  its  own  subtle  power 
transformed  that  coarse  integument  into  its  own  pure 
gold.  What  was  that  fire?  What  divine  touch  had 
kindled  it?  And,  more  important  still,  was  that  fire 
still  aglow,  or,  having  done  its  work,  had  it  for  lack 
of  food  flickered  and  died  out?  With  these  questions 
Cameron  vexed  himself  for  many  days,  nor  found  an 
answer. 


434  CORPORAL    CAMERON 


JACK  GEEEN  did  not  die.  Every  morning  for  a 
fortnight  Constable  Cameron  felt  it  to  be  his 
duty  to  make  enquiry — the  Sergeant,  it  may  be 
added — performing  the  same  duty  with  equal  diligence 
in  the  afternoon,  and  every  day  the  balance,  which 
trembled  evenly  for  some  time  between  hope  and  fear, 
continued  to  dip  more  and  more  decidedly  toward  the 
former. 

"He's  going  to  live,  I  believe,"  said  Dr.  Martin  one 
day.  "And  he  owes  it  to  the  nurse."  The  doctor's  de- 
votion to  and  admiration  for  Nurse  Haley  began  to 
appear  to  Cameron  unnecessarily  pronounced.  "She 
simply  would  not  let  him  go!"  continued  the  doctor. 
"She  nursed  him,  sang  to  him  her  old  'Come  all  ye* 
songs  and  Methodist  hymns,  she  spun  him  barnyard 
yarns  and  orchard  idyls,  and  always  'continued  in  our 
next,'  till  the  chap  simply  couldn't  croak  for  wanting 
to  hear  the  next." 

At  times  Cameron  caught  through  the  tent  walls 
snatches  of  those  songs  and  yarns  and  idyls,  at  times  he 
caught  momentary  glimpses  of  the  bright  young  girl 
who  was  pouring  the  vigour  of  her  life  into  the  lad 
fighting  for  his  own,  but  these  snatches  and  glimpses 
only  exasperated  him.  There  was  no  opportunity  for 
any  lengthened  and  undisturbed  converse,  for  on  the 
one  hand  the  hospital  service  was  exacting  beyond  the 
strength  of  doctor  and  nurses,  and  on  the  other  there 
was  serious  trouble  for  Superintendent  Strong  and  his 


"CORPORAL"    CAMERON  435 

men  in  the  camps  along  the  line,  for  a  general  strike  had 
been  declared  in  all  the  camps  and  no  one  knew  at  what 
minute  it  might  flare  up  into  a  fierce  riot. 

It  was  indeed  exasperating  to  Cameron.  The  rela- 
tions between  himself  and  Nurse  Haley  were  unsatis- 
factory, entirely  unsatisfactory.  It  was  clearly  his 
duty — indeed  he  owed  it  to  her  and  to  himself — to  ar- 
rive at  some  understanding,  to  establish  their  relations 
upon  a  proper  and  reasonable  basis.  He  was  at  very 
considerable  pains  to  make  it  clear,  not  only  to  the 
Sergeant,  but  to  the  cheerful  little  nurse  and  to  the  doc- 
tor as  well,  that  as  her  oldest  friend  in  the  country  it 
was  incumbent  upon  him  to  exercise  a  sort  of  kindly  pro- 
tectorate over  Nurse  Haley.  In  this  it  is  to  be  feared 
he  was  only  partially  successful.  The  Sergeant  was 
obviously  and  gloomily  incredulous  of  the  purity  of  his 
motives,  the  little  nurse  arched  her  eyebrows  and  smiled 
in  a  most  annoying  manner,  while  the  doctor  pendu- 
lated between  good-humoured  tolerance  and  mild  sar- 
casm. It  added  not  a  little  to  Cameron's  mental 
disquiet  that  he  was  quite  unable  to  understand  him- 
self ;  indeed,  through  these  days  he  was  engaged  in  con- 
ducting a  bit  of  psychological  research,  with  his  own 
mind  as  laboratory  and  his  mental  phenomena  as  the 
materia  for  his  investigation.  It  was  a  most  difficult 
and  delicate  study  and  one  demanding  both  leisure  and 
calm — and  Cameron  had  neither.  The  brief  minutes 
he  could  snatch  from  Her  Majesty's  service  were  neces- 
sarily given  to  his  friends  in  the  hospital  and  as  to  the 
philosophic  calm  necessary  to  research  work,  a  glimpse 
through  the  door  of  Nurse  Haley's  golden  head  bending 
over  a  sick  man's  cot,  a  snatch  of  song  in  the  deep  mel- 
low tones  of  her  voice,  a  touch  of  her  strong  firm  hand,  a 
quiet  steady  look  from  her  deep,  deep  eyes — any  one  of 


436  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

these  was  sufficient  to  scatter  all  his  philosophic  deter- 
minings  to  the  winds  and  leave  his  soul  a  chaos  of 
confused  emotions. 

Small  wonder,  then,  that  twenty  times  a  day  he  cursed 
the  luck  that  had  transferred  him  from  the  compara- 
tively peaceful  environment  of  the  Police  Post  at  Fort 
Macleod  to  the  maddening  whirl  of  conflicting  desires 
and  duties  attendant  upon  the  Service  in  the  railroad 
construction  camps.  A  letter  from  his  friend  Inspector 
Dickson  accentuated  the  contrast. 

"Great  doings,  my  boy,"  wrote  the  Inspector,  evi- 
dently under  the  spell  of  overmastering  excitement. 
"We  have  Little  Thunder  again  in  the  toils,  this  time 
to  stay,  and  we  owe  this  capture  to  your  friend  Raven. 
A  week  ago  Mr.  Raven  coolly  walked  into  the  Fort  and 
asked  for  the  Superintendent.  I  was  down  at  stables 
at  the  time.  As  he  was  coming  out  I  ran  into  him  and 
immediately  shouted  'Hands  up!' 

"  'Ah,  Mr.  Inspector/  said  my  gentleman,  as  cool  as 
ice,  'delighted  to  see  you  again/ 

"  'Stand  where  you  are !'  I  said,  and  knowing  my  man 
and  determined  to  take  no  chances,  I  ordered  two  con- 
stables to  arrest  him.  At  this  the  Superintendent  ap- 
peared. 

"  'Ah,  Inspector/  he  said,  'there  is  evidently  some 
mistake  here.' 

"'There  is  no  mistake,  Superintendent/  I  replied. 
'I  know  this  man.  He  is  wanted  on  a  serious  charge.' 

"  'Kindly  step  this  way,  Mr.  Raven/  said  the  Super- 
intendent, 'and  you,  Inspector.  I  have  something  of 
importance  to  say  to  you.' 

"And,  by  Jove,  it  was  important  Little  Thunder 
had  broken  his  pledge  to  Raven  to  quit  the  rebellion 
business  and  had  perfected  a  plan  for  a  simultaneous 


CORPORAL"    CAMERON  437 


rising  of  Blackfeet,  Bloods,  Piegans,  and  Sarcees  next 
month.  Raven  had  stumbled  upon  this  and  had  deliber- 
ately put  himself  in  the  power  of  the  Police  to  bring 
this  information.  'I  am  not  quite  prepared,'  he  said, 
'to  hand  over  this  country  to  a  lot  of  bally  half-breeds 
and  bloody  savages.'  Together  the  Superintendent  and 
he  had  perfected  a  plan  for  the  capture  of  the  heads  of 
the  conspiracy. 

"  'As  to  that  little  matter  of  which  you  were  think- 
ing, Inspector  Dickson,'  said  my  Chief,  'I  think  if  you 
remember,  we  have  no  definite  charge  laid  against  Mr. 
Raven,  who  has  given  us,  by  the  way,  very  valuable  in- 
formation upon  which  we  must  immediately  act.  We 
are  also  to  have  Mr.  Raven's  assistance.' 

"Well,  we  had  a  glorious  hunt,  and  by  Jove,  that 
man  Raven  is  a  wonder.  He  brought  us  right  to  the 
bunch,  walked  in  on  them,  cool  and  quiet,  pulled  two 
guns  and  held  them  till  we  all  got  in  place.  There  will 
be  no  rebellion  among  these  tribes  this  year,  I  am  con- 
fident." 

And  though  it  does  not  appear  in  the  records  it  is 
none  the  less  true  that  to  the  influence  of  Missionary 
Macdougall  among  the  Stonies  and  to  the  vigilance  of 
the  North  West  Mounted  Police  was  it  due  that  during 
the  Rebellion  of  '85  Canada  was  spared  the  unspeak- 
able horrors  of  an  Indian  war. 

It  was  this  letter  that  deepened  the  shadow  upon 
Cameron's  face  and  sharpened  the  edge  on  hig  voice 
as  he  looked  in  upon  his  hospital  friends  one  bright 
winter  morning. 

"You  are  quite  unbearable!"  said  the  little  nurse 
after  she  had  listened  to  his  grumbling  for  a  few 
minutes.  "And  you  are  spoiling  us  all." 

"Spoiling  you  all?" 


438 


"Yes,  especially  me,  and — Nurse  Haley." 

"Nurse  Haley?" 

"Yes.     You  are  disturbing  her  peace  of  mind." 

"Disturbing  her?    Me?" 

A  certain  satisfaction  crept  into  Cameron's  voice. 
Nothing  is  so  calculated  to  restore  the  poise  of  the 
male  mind  as  a  consciousness  of  power  to  disturb  the 
equilibrium  of  one  of  the  imperious  sex. 

"And  you  must  not  do  it !"  continued  the  little  nurse. 
"She  has  far  too  much  to  bear  now." 

"And  haven't  I  been  just  telling  you  that?"  said  Cam- 
eron savagely.  "She  never  gets  off.  Night  and  day  she 
is  on  the  job.  I  tell  you,  I  won't — it  should  not  be  al- 
lowed." Cameron  was  conscious  of  a  fine  glow  of  fra- 
ternal interest  in  this  young  girl.  "For  instance,  a 
day  like  this !  Look  at  these  white  mountains,  and  that 
glorious  sky,  and  this  wonderful  air,  and  not  a  breath 
of  wind !  What  a  day  for  a  walk !  It  would  do  her — it 
would  do  you  all  a  world  of  good." 

"Wait!"  cried  the  little  nurse,  who  had  been  on  duty 
all  night.  "I'll  tell  her  what  you  say." 

Apparently  it  took  some  telling,  for  it  was  a  full 
precious  quarter  of  an  hour  before  they  appeared  again. 

"There,  now,  you  see  the  effect  of  your  authority. 
She  would  not  budge  for  me,  but — well — there  she  is! 
Look  at  her!" 

There  was  no  need  for  this  injunction.  Cameron's 
eyes  were  already  fastened  upon  her.  And  she  was 
worth  any  man's  while  to  look  at  in  her  tramping  cos- 
tume of  toque  and  blanket  coat.  Tall,  she  looked,  be- 
side the  little  nurse,  lithe  and  strong,  her  close-fitting 
Hudson  Bay  blanket  coat  revealing  the  swelling  lines 
of  her  budding  womanhood.  The  dainty  white  toque 
perched  upon  the  massea  of  gold-brown  hair  accentu- 


"COKPORAL"    CAMERON  439 

ated  the  girlish  freshness  of  her  face.  At  the  nurse's 
words  she  turned  her  eyes  upon  Cameron  and  upon  her 
face,  pale  with  long  night  watches,  a  faint  red  appeared. 
But  her  eyes  were  quiet  and  steady  and  kind ;  too  quiet 
and  too  kind  for  Cameron,  who  was  looking  for  other 
signals.  There  was  no  sign  of  disturbance  in  that  face. 

"Come  on!"  he  said  impatiently.  "We  have  only 
one  hour." 

"Oh,  what  a  glorious  day !"  cried  Nurse  Haley,  draw- 
ing a  deep  breath  and  striding  out  like  a  man  to  keep 
pace  with  Cameron.  "And  how  good  of  you  to  spare 
me  the  time!" 

"I  have  been  trying  to  get  you  alone  for  the  last  two 
weeks,"  said  Cameron. 

"Two  weeks?" 

"Yes,  for  a  month !    I  wanted  to  talk  to  you." 

"To  talk  with  me?    About  what?" 

"About — well — about  everything — about  yourself." 

"Me?" 

"Yes.  I  don't  understand  you.  You  have  changed  so 
tremendously." 

"Oh,"  exclaimed  the  girl,  "I  am  so  glad  you  have 
noticed  that!  Have  I  changed  much?" 

"Much?  I  should  say  so!  I  find  myself  wondering 
if  you  are  the  Mandy  I  used  to  know  at  all." 

"Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  "I  am  so  glad!  You  see,  I 
needed  to  change  so  much." 

"But  how  has  it  happened?"  exclaimed  Cameron.  "It 
is  a  miracle  to  me." 

"How  a  miracle?" 

For  a  few  moments  they  walked  on  in  silence,  the 
tote  road  leading  them  into  the  forest.  After  a  time 
the  nurse  said  softly, 

"It  wa*  you  who  began  it." 


440  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

"I?" 

"Yes,  you — and  then  the  nurse.  Oh,  I  can  never  re- 
pay her!  The  day  that  you  left — that  was  a  dreadful 
day.  The  world  was  all  black.  I  could  not  have  lived, 
I  think,  many  days  like  that.  I  had  to  go  into  town  and 
I  couldn't  help  going  to  her.  Oh,  how  good  she  was  to 
me  that  day!  how  good!  She  understood,  she  under- 
stood at  once.  She  made  me  come  for  a  week  to  her, 
and  then  for  altogether.  That  was  the  beginning;  then 
I  began  to  see  how  foolish  I  had  been." 

"Foolish?" 

"Yes,  wildly  foolish !  I  was  like  a  mad  thing,  but  I 
did  not  know  then,  and  I  could  not  help  it." 

"Help  what?" 

"Oh,  everything!  But  the  nurse  showed  me — she 
showed  me — " 

"Showed  you?" 

"Showed  me  how  to  take  care  of  myself — to  take  care 
of  my  body — of  my  dress — of  my  hair.  Oh,  I  remember 
well,"  she  said  with  a  bright  little  laugh,  "I  remember 
that  hair-dresser.  Then  the  doctor  came  and  gave  me 
books  and  made  me  read  and  study — and  then  I  began 
to  see.  Oh,  it  was  like  a  fire — a  burning  fire  within  me. 
And  the  doctor  was  good  to  me,  so  very  patient,  till  I 
began  to  love  my  profession ;  to  love  it  at  first  for  my- 
self, and  then  for  others.  How  good  they  all  were  to 
me  those  days ! — the  nurses  in  the  hospital,  the  doctors, 
the  students — everyone  seemed  to  be  kind;  but  above 
them  all  my  own  nurse  here  and  my  own  doctor." 

In  hurried  eager  speech  she  poured  forth  her  heart 
as  if  anxious  to  finish  her  tale — her  voice,  her  eyes,  her 
face  all  eloquent  of  the  intense  emotion  that  filled  her 
soul. 

"It  is  wonderful !"  said  Cameron. 


441 


"Yes,"  she  replied,  "wonderful  indeed!  And  I 
wanted  to  see  you  and  have  you  see  me,"  she  continued, 
still  hurrying  her  speech,  "for  I  could  not  bear  that  you 
should  remember  me  as  I  was  those  dreadful  days ;  and 
I  am  so  glad  that  you — you — are  pleased !"  The  appeal 
in  her  voice  and  in  her  eyes  roused  in  Cameron  an  over- 
whelming tide  of  passion. 

"Pleased!"  he  cried.  "Pleased!  Great  Heavens, 
Mandy!  You  are  wonderful!  Don't  you  know 
that?" 

"No,"  she  said  thoughtfully;  "but,"  she  drew  a  long 
breath,  "I  like  to  hear  you  say  vit.  That  is  all  I 
want.  You  see  I  owe  it  all  to  you."  The  face  she 
turned  to  him  so  innocently  happy  might  have  been  a 
child's. 

"Mandy,"  cried  Cameron,  stopping  short  in  his  walk, 
"you — I — !"  That  frank  childlike  look  in  her  eyes 
checked  his  hot  words.  But  there  was  no  need  for 
words;  his  eyes  spoke  for  his  faltering  lips.  A  look  of 
fear  leaped  to  her  eyes,  a  flow  of  red  blood  to  her  cheeks ; 
then  she  stood,  white,  trembling  and  silent 

"I  am  tired,  I  think,"  she  said  after  a  moment's 
silence,  "we  will  go  back." 

"Yes,  you  are  tired,"  said  Cameron  angrily.  "You 
are  tired  to  death.  Mandy,  you  need  some  one  to  take 
care  of  you.  I  wish  you  would  let  me."  They  were  now 
walking  back  toward  the  town. 

"They  are  all  good  to  me;  they  are  all  kind  to  me." 
Her  voice  was  quiet  and  steady.  She  had  gained  con- 
trol of  herself  again.  "Why,  even  John  the  Chinaman," 
she  added  with  a  laugh,  "spoils  me.  Oh,  no  harm  can 
come  to  me — I  have  no  fear!" 

"But,"  said  Cameron,  "I — I  want  to  take  care  of  you, 
Mandy.  I  want  the  right  to  take  care  of  you,  always." 


442  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

"I  know,  I  know,"  she  said  kindly.  "You  are  so 
good ;  you  were  always  so  good ;  but  I  need  no  one." 

Cameron  glanced  at  the  lithe,  strong,  upright  figure 
striding  along  beside  him  with  easy  grace;  and  the 
truth  came  to  him  in  swift  and  painful  revelation. 

"You  are  right,"  he  said  as  if  to  himself.  "You  need 
no  one,  and  you  don't  need  me." 

"But,"  she  cried  eagerly,  "it  was  good  of  you  all  the 
same." 

"Good !"  he  said  impatiently.  "Good !  Nonsense !  I 
tell  you,  Mandy,  I  want  you,  I  want  you.  Do  you  un- 
derstand? I  want  to  marry  you." 

"Oh,  don't  say  that!"  she  cried,  stopping  short,  her 
voice  disturbed,  but  kindly,  gentle  and  strong.  "Don't 
say  that,"  she  repeated,  "for,  of  course,  that  is  im- 
possible." 

"Impossible!"  he  exclaimed  angrily. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  her  voice  still  quiet  and  steady, 
"quite  impossible.  But  I  love  you  for  saying  it,  oh — ," 
she  suddenly  caught  her  breath.  "Oh,  I  love  you  for 
saying  it"  Then  pointing  up  the  road  she  cried,  "Look ! 
Some  one  for  you,  I  am  sure."  A  horseman  was  gallop- 
ing swiftly  towards  them. 

"Oh  hang  it  all!"  said  Cameron.  "What  the  denc6 
does  he  want  now?" 

"We  must  talk  this  out  again,  Mandy,"  he  said. 

"No,  no !"  she  cried,  "never  again.  Please  don't,  ever 
again ;  I  could  not  bear  it.  But  I  shall  always  remem- 
ber, and — I  am  so  glad."  As  she  spoke,  her  hands,  with; 
her  old  motion,  went  to  her  heart. 

"Oh  the  deuce  take  it !"  said  Cameron  as  the  Sergeant 
flung  his  horse  back  on  his  heels  at  their  side.  "What 
does  he  want?" 

"Constable  Cameron,"  said  the  Sergeant  in  a  voice 


"CORPORAL"   CAMERON  443 

of  sharp  command,  "there's  a  row  on.  Constable  Scott 
has  been  very  badly  handled  in  trying  to  make  an  arrest. 
You  are  to  report  at  once  for  duty." 

"All  right,  Sir,"  said  Cameron,  "I  shall  return  im- 
mediately." 

The  Sergeant  wheeled  and  was  gone. 

"You  must  go!"  cried  Mandy,  quick  fear  springing 
into  her  eyes. 

"Yes,"  said  Cameron,  "at  once.  Come,  I  shall  take 
you  home." 

"No,  never  mind  me!"  she  cried.  "Go!  Go!  I  can 
take  care  of  myself.  I  shall  follow."  Her  voice  rang 
out  strong  and  clear;  she  was  herself  once  more. 

"You  are  the  right  sort,  Mandy,"  cried  Cameron,  tak- 
ing her  hand.  "Good  bye!" 

"Good  bye!"  she  replied,  her  face  suddenly  pale  and 
her  lips  beginning  to  quiver.  "I  shall  always  remem- 
ber— I — shall — always  be  glad  for — what  you  said  to- 
day." 

Cameron  stood  looking  at  her  for  a  moment  some- 
what uncertainly,  then, 

"Good  bye!"  he  said  abruptly,  and,  turning,  went  at 
the  double  towards  his  quarters. 

The  strikers  had  indeed  broken  loose,  supported  by 
the  ruffianly  horde  of  camp  followers  who  were  egging 
them  on  to  violence  and  destruction  of  property.  At 
present  they  were  wild  with  triumph  over  the  fact  that 
they  had  rescued  one  of  their  leaders,  big  Joe  Coyle, 
from  Constable  Scott.  It  was  an  exceedingly  danger- 
ous situation,  for  the  riot  might  easily  spread  from 
camp  to  camp.  Bruised  and  bloody,  Constable  Scott 
reported  to  Superintendent  Strong  lying  upon  his  sick 
bed. 

"Sergeant,"    said    the    Superintendent,    "take    Con- 


444  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

stables  Cameron  and  Scott,  arrest  that  man  at  once 
and  bring  him  here!" 

In  the  village  they  found  between  eight  hundred  and 
a  thousand  men,  many  of  them  crazed  with  bad  whiskey, 
some  armed  with  knives  and  some  with  guns,  and  all 
ready  for  blood.  Big  Joe  Coyle  they  found  in  the 
saloon.  Pushing  his  way  through,  the  Sergeant  seized 
his  man  by  the  collar. 

"Come  along,  I  want  you !"  he  said,  dragging  him  to 
the  open  door. 

"Shut  that  there  door,  Hep !"  drawled  a  man  with  a 
goatee  and  a  moustache  dyed  glossy  black. 

"All  right,  Bill !"  shouted  the  man  called  Hep,  spring- 
ing to  the  door;  but  before  he  could  make  it  Cameron 
had  him  by  the  collar. 

"Hold  on,  Hep!"  he  said,  "not  so  fast." 

For  answer  Hep  struck  hard  at  him,  and  the  crowd  of 
men  threw  themselves  at  Cameron  and  between  him  and 
the  door.  Constable  Scott,  who  also  had  his  hand  upon 
the  prisoner,  drew  his  revolver  and  looked  towards  the 
Sergeant  who  was  struggling  in  the  grasp  of  three 
or  four  ruffians. 

"No!"  shouted  the  Sergeant  above  the  uproar. 
"Don't  shoot — we  have  no  orders !  Let  him  go !" 

"Go  on !"  he  said  savagely,  giving  his  prisoner  a  final 
shake,  "We  will  come  back  for  you." 

There  was  a  loud  chorus  of  derisive  cheers.  The 
crowd  opened  and  allowed  the  Sergeant  and  constables 
to  pass  out.  Taking  his  place  at  the  saloon  door  with 
Constable  Scott,  the  Sergeant  sent  Cameron  to  report 
and  ask  for  further  orders. 

"Ask  if  we  have  orders  to  shoot,"  said  the  Sergeant. 

Cameron  found  the  Superintendent  hardly  able  to 
lift  his  head  and  made  his  report. 


"CORPORAL"    CAMERON  445 

"The  saloon  is  filled  with  men  who  oppose  the  arrest, 
Sir.  What  are  your  orders?" 

"My  orders  are,  Bring  that  man  here,  and  at  once!" 

"Have  we  instructions  to  shoot?" 

"Shoot!"  cried  the  Superintendent,  lifting  himself 
on  his  elbow.  "Bring  that  man  if  you  have  to  shoot 
every  man  in  the  saloon!" 

"Very  well,  Sir,  we  will  bring  him,"  said  Cameron, 
departing  on  a  run. 

At  the  door  of  the  saloon  he  found  the  Sergeant  and 
Constable  white  hot  under  the  jeers  and  taunts  of  the 
half  drunken  gang  gathered  about  them. 

"What  are  the  orders,  Constable  Cameron?"  enquired 
the  Sergeant  in  a  loud  voice. 

"The  orders  are,  Shoot  every  man  in  the  saloon  if 
necessary!"  shouted  Cameron. 

"Revolvers!"  commanded  the  Sergeant.  "Constable 
Cameron,  hold  the  door!  Constable  Scott,  follow  me!" 

At  the  door  stood  the  man  named  Hep,  evidently 
keeping  guard. 

"Want  in?"  he  said  with  a  grin. 

For  answer,  Cameron  gripped  his  collar,  with  one 
fierce  jerk  lifted  him  clear  out  of  the  door  to  the  plat- 
form, and  then,  putting  his  body  into  it,  heaved  him 
with  a  mighty  swing  far  into  the  crowd  below,  bringing 
two  or  three  men  to  the  ground  with  the  impact  of  his 
body. 

"Come  here,  man!"  cried  Cameron  again,  seizing  a 
second  man  who  stood  near  the  door  and  flinging  him 
clear  off  the  platform  after  the  unlucky  Hep. 

Speedily  the  crowd  about  the  door  gave  back,  and  be- 
fore they  were  aware  the  Sergeant  and  Constable  Scott 
appeared  with  big  Joe  Coyle  between  them. 

"Take  him !"  said  the  Sergeant  to  Cameron. 


446  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

.Cameron  seized  him  by  the  collar. 

"Come  here!"  he  said,  and,  clearing  the  platform  in 
a  spring,  he  brought  his  prisoner  in  a  heap  with  him. 
"Get  up !"  he  roared  at  him,  jerking  him  to  his  feet  as 
if  he  had  been  a  child. 

"Let  him  go !"  shouted  the  man  with  the  goatee,  named 
Bill,  rushing  up. 

"Take  that,  then,"  said  Cameron,  giving  him  a  swift 
half-arm  jab  on  the  jaw,  "and  I'll  come  back  for  you 
again,"  he  added,  as  the  man  fell  back  into  the  arms 
of  his  friends. 

"Forward!"  said  the  Sergeant,  falling  in  with  Con- 
stable Scott  behind  Cameron  and  facing  the  crowd  with 
drawn  revolvers.  The  swift  fierceness  of  the  attack 
seemed  to  paralyse  the  senses  of  the  crowd. 

"Come  on,  boys !"  yelled  the  goatee  man,  bloody  and 
savage  with  Cameron's  blow.  "Don't  let  the  blank 
blank  blank  rattle  you  like  a  lot  of  blank  blank  chick- 
ens. Come  on!" 

At  once  rose  a  roar  "from  eight  hundred  throats  like 
nothing  human  in  its  sound,  and  the  crowd  began  to 
press  close  upon  the  Police.  But  the  revolvers  had  an 
ugly  appearance  to  those  in  front  looking  into  their 
little  black  throats. 

"Aw,  come  on!"  yelled  a  man  half  drunk,  running 
with  a  lurch  upon  the  Sergeant. 

"Crack !"  went  the  Sergeant's  revolver,  and  the  man 
dropped  with  a  bullet  through  his  shoulder. 

"Next  man,"  shouted  the  Sergeant,  "I  shall  kill !" 

The  crowd  gave  back  and  gathered  round  the  wounded 
man.  A  stream  lay  in  the  path  of  the  Police,  crossed 
by  a  little  bridge. 

"Hurry!"  said  the  Sergeant,  "let's  make  the  bridge 
before  they  come  again."  But  before  they  could  make 


"CORPORAL"    CAMERON  447 

the  bridge  the  crowd  had  recovered  from  their  momen- 
tary panic  and,  with  wild  oaths  and  yells  and  brandish- 
ing knives  and  guns,  came  on  with  a  rush,  led  by  goatee 
Bill. 

Already  the  prisoner  was  half  way  across  the  bridge, 
the  Sergeant  and  the  constable  guarding  the  entrance, 
when  above  the  din  was  heard  a  roar  as  of  some  ani- 
mal enraged.  Looking  beyond  the  Police  the  crowd 
beheld  a  fearsome  sight.  It  was  the  Superintendent 
himself,  hatless,  and  with  uniform  in  disarray,  a  sword 
in  one  hand,  a  revolver  in  the  other.  Across  the  bridge 
he  came  like  a  tornado  and,  standing  at  the  entrance, 
roared, 

"Listen  to  me,  you  dogs!  The  first  man  who  sets 
foot  on  this  bridge  I  shall  shoot  dead,  so  help  me  God !" 

His  towering  form,  his  ferocious  appearance  and  his 
well-known  reputation  for  utter  fearlessness  made  the 
crowd  pause  and,  before  they  could  make  up  their  minds 
to  attack  that  resolute  little  company  headed  by  their 
dread  commander,  the  prisoner  was  safe  over  the  bridge 
and  well  up  the  hill  toward  the  guard  room.  Half 
way  up  the  hill  the  Superintendent  met  Cameron  re- 
turning from  the  disposition  of  his  prisoner. 

"There's  another  man  down  there,  Sir,  needs  looking 
after,"  he  said. 

"Better  let  them  cool  off,  Cameron,"  said  the  Super- 
intendent. 

"I  promised  I'd  go  for  him,  Sir,"  said  Cameron,  his 
face  all  ablaze  for  battle. 

"Then  go  for  him,"  said  the  Superintendent  "Let 
a  couple  of  you  go  along — but  I  am  done — just  now." 

"We  will  see  you  up  the  hill,  Sir,"  said  the  Sergeant. 

"Come  on,  Scott!"  said  Cameron,  setting  off  for  the 
village  once  more. 


448 


The  crowd  had  returned  from  the  bridge  and  the  lead- 
ers had  already  sought  their  favourite  resort,  the  saloon. 
Straight  to  the  door  marched  Cameron,  followed  by 
Scott.  Close  to  the  counter  stood  goatee  Bill,  loudly 
orating,  and  violently  urging  the  breaking  in  of  the 
guard  room  and  the  release  of  the  prisoner. 

"In  my  country,"  he  yelled,  "we'd  have  that  feller 
out  in  about  six  minutes  in  spite  of  all  the  blank  blank 
Police  in  this  blank  country.  They  ain't  no  good. 
They're  scairt  to  death." 

At  this  point  Cameron  walked  in  upon  him  and  laid 
a  compelling  grip  upon  his  collar.  Instantly  Bill 
reached  for  his  gun,  but  Cameron,  swiftly  shifting  his 
grip  to  his  arm,  wrenched  him  sharply  about  and  struck 
him  one  blow  on  the  ear.  As  if  held  by  a  hinge,  the 
head  fell  over  on  one  side  and  the  man  slithered  to  the 
floor. 

"Out  of  the  way!"  shouted  Cameron,  dragging  his 
man  with  him,  but  just  as  he  reached  the  door  a  heavy 
glass  came  singing  through  the  air  and  caught  him  on 
the  head.  For  a  moment  he  staggered,  caught  hold  of 
the  lintel  and  held  himself  steady. 

"Here,  Scott,"  he  cried,  "put  the  bracelets  on 
him." 

With  revolver  drawn  Constable  Scott  sprang  to  his 
side. 

"Come  out !"  he  said  to  the  goatee  man,  slipping  the 
handcuffs  over  his  wrists,  while  Cameron,  still  clinging 
to  the  lintel,  was  fighting  back  the  faintness  that  was 
overpowering  him.  Seeing  his  plight,  Hep  sprang  to- 
ward him,  eager  for  revenge,  but  Cameron  covering  him 
with  his  gun  held  him  in  check  and,  with  a  supreme 
effort  getting  command  of  himself,  again  stepped 
towards  Hep. 


"CORPORAL"    CAMERON  449 

"Now,  then,"  he  said  between  his  clenched  teeth, 
"will  you  come?"  So  terrible  were  his  voice  and  look 
that  Hep's  courage  wilted. 

"I'll  come,  Colonel,  I'll  come,"  he  said  quickly. 

"Come  then,"  said  Cameron,  reaching  for  him  and 
bringing  him  forward  with  a  savage  jerk. 

In  three  minutes  from  the  time  the  attack  was  made 
both  men,  thoroughly  subdued  and  handcuffed,  were 
marched  off  in  charge  of  the  constables. 

"Hurry,  Scott,"  said  Cameron  in  a  low  voice  to  his 
comrade.  "I  am  nearly  in." 

With  all  possible  speed  they  hustled  their  prisoners 
along  over  the  bridge  and  up  the  hill.  At  the  hospital 
door,  as  they  passed,  Dr.  Martin  appeared. 

"Hello,  Cameron!"  he  cried.  "Got  him,  eh?"  Great 
Caesar,  man,  what's  up?"  he  added  as  Cameron,  turn- 
ing his  head,  revealed  a  face  and  neck  bathed  in  blood. 
"You  are  white  as  a  ghost." 

"Get  me  a  drink,  old  chap.  I  am  nearly  in,"  said 
Cameron  in  a  faint  voice. 

"Come  into  my  tent  here,"  said  the  doctor. 

"Got  to  see  these  prisoners  safe  first,"  said  Cameron, 
swaying  on  his  feet. 

"Come  in,  you  idiot!"  cried  the  doctor. 

"Go  in,  Cameron,"  said  Constable  Scott.  "I'll  take 
care  of  'em  all  right,"  he  added,  drawing  his  gun. 

"No,"  said  Cameron,  still  with  his  hand  on  goatee 
Bill's  collar.  "I'll  see  them  safe  first,"  saying  which 
he  swayed  drunkenly  about  and,  but  for  Bill's  sup- 
port, would  have  fallen. 

"Go  on !"  said  Bill  good-naturedly.  "Don't  mind  me. 
I'm  good  now." 

"Come!"  said  the  doctor,  supporting  him  into  the 
tent. 


450  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

"Forward!"  commanded  Constable  Scott,  and 
marched  his  prisoners  before  him  up  the  hill. 

The  wound  on  Cameron's  head  was  a  ghastly  affair, 
full  six  inches  long,  and  went  to  the  bone. 

"Rather  ugly,"  said  the  doctor,  feeling  round  the 
wound.  "Nurse !"  he  called.  "Nurse !"  The  little  nurse 
came  running  in.  "Some  water  and  a  sponge!" 

There  was  a  cry  behind  her — low,  long,  pitiful. 

"Oh,  what  is  this?"  With  a  swift  movement  Nurse 
Haley  was  beside  the  doctor's  bed.  Cameron,  who  had 
been  lying  with  his  eyes  closed  and  was  ghastly  white 
from  loss  of  blood,  opened  his  eyes  and  smiled  up  into 
the  face  above  him. 

"I  feel  fine — now,"  he  said  and  closed  his  eyes  again. 

"Let  me  do  that,"  said  Nurse  Haley  with  a  kind  of 
jealous  fierceness,  taking  the  sponge  and  basin  from  the 
little  nurse. 

Examination  revealed  nothing  more  serious,  however, 
than  a  deep  scalp  wound  and  a  slight  concussion. 

"He  will  be  fit  enough  in  a  couple  of  days,"  said  the 
doctor  when  the  wound  was  dressed. 

Then,  pale  and  haggard  as  if  with  long  watching, 
Nurse  Haley  went  to  her  room  there  to  fight  out  her 
lonely  fight  while  Cameron  slept. 

The  day  passed  in  quiet,  the  little  nurse  on  guard,  and 
the  doctor  looking  in  every  half  hour  upon  his  patient. 
As  evening  fell  Cameron  woke  and  demanded  Nurse 
Haley.  The  doctor  felt  his  pulse. 

"Send  her  in!"  he  said  and  left  the  tent. 

The  rays  of  the  sun  setting  far  down  the  Pass  shone 
through  the  walls  and  filled  the  tent  with  a  soft  radi- 
ance. Into  this  radiance  she  came,  her  face  pale  as  of 
one  who  has  come  through  conflict,  and  serene  as  of  one 
who  has  conquered,  pale  and  strong  and  alight,  not  with 


"CORPORAL"    CAMERON  451 

the  radiance  of  the  setting  sun,  but  with  light  of  a  soul 
that  has  made  the  ancient  sacrifice  of  self-effacing  love. 

"You  want  me?"  she  said,  her  voice  low  and  sweet, 
but  for  all  her  brave  serenity  tremulous. 

"Yes,"  said  Cameron,  holding  out  his  arms.  "I  want 
you ;  I  want  you,  Mandy." 

"Oh,"  cried  the  girl,  while  her  hands  fluttered  to  her 
heart,  "don't  ask  me  to  go  through  it  again.  I  am  so 
weak."  She  stood  like  a  frightened  bird  poised  for 
flight 

"Come,"  he  said,  "I  want  you." 

"You  want  me?  You  said  you  wanted  to  take  care  of 
me,"  she  breathed. 

"I  was  a  fool,  Mandy ;  a  conceited  fool  I  Now  I  know 
what  I  want — I  want — just  you.  Come."  Again  he 
lifted  his  arms. 

"Oh,  it  cannot  be,"  she  breathed  as  if  to  herself.  "Are 
you  sure — sure?  I  could  not  bear  it  if  you  were  not 
sura" 

"Come,  dear  love,"  he  cried,  "with  all  my  heart  and 
soul  and  body  I  want  you — I  want  only  you." 

For  a  single  moment  longer  she  stood,  her  soul 
searching  his  through  her  wonderful  eyes.  Then  with 
a  little  sigh  she  sank  into  his  arms. 

"Oh,  my  darling,"  she  whispered,  wreathing  her 
strong  young  arms  around  his  neck  and  laying  her 
cheek  close  to  his,  "my  darling,  I  thought  I  had  given 
you  up,  but  how  could  I  have  done  it?" 

At  the  hospital  door  the  doctor  waa  on  guard.  A 
massive  figure  loomed  in  the  doorway, 

"Hello,  Superintendent  Strong,  what  on  earth  arc 
you  doing  out  of  bed?" 

"Where  is  he?"  said  the  Superintendent  abruptly. 

"Who?" 


452  CORPORAL   CAMERON 

"Corporal  Cameron." 

"Corporal  Cameron?     Constable  Cameron  is — " 

"Corporal  Cameron,  I  said.  I  have  just  had  Con- 
stable Scott's  report  and  felt  I  must  see  him  at 
once." 

''Come  in,  Superintendent!  Sit  down!  I  shall  en- 
quire if  he  is  resting.  Nurse!  Nurse!  Enquire  if 
Corporal  Cameron  can  be  seen." 

The  little  nurse  tip-toed  into  the  doctor's  tent,  lifted 
the  curtain,  took  one  glance  and  drew  swiftly  back. 
This  is  what  her  eyes  looked  upon.  A  girl's  form 
kneeling  by  the  bed,  golden  hair  mingling  with  black 
upon  the  pillow,  two  strong  arms  holding  her  close  and 
hers  wreathed  in  answering  embrace, 

"Mr.  Cameron  I  am  afraid,"  she  reported,  "cannot  be 
seen.  He  is — I  think — he  is — engaged." 

"Ah !"  said  the  doctor. 

"Well,"  said  the  Superintendent,  "just  tell  Corporal 
Cameron  for  me  that  I  am  particularly  well  pleased 
with  his  bearing  to-day,  and  that  I  hope  he  will  be  very 
soon  fit  for  duty." 

"Certainly,  Superintendent.  Now  let  me  help  you 
up  the  hill." 

"Never  mind,  here's  the  Sergeant.  Good  evening! 
Very  fine  thing !  Very  fine  thing  indeed !  I  see  rapid 
promotion  in  his  profession  for  that  young  man." 

"Inspector,  eh?"  said  the  doctor. 

"Yes,  Sir,  I  should  without  hesitation  recommend 
him  and  should  be  only  too  pleased  to  have  him  as 
Inspector  in  my  command." 

It  was  not,  however,  as  Inspector  that  Corporal  Cam- 
eron served  under  the  gallant  Superintendent,  but  in 
another  equally  honourable  capacity  did  they  ride  away 
together  one  bright  April  morning  a  few  weeks  later, 


"CORPORAL"    CAMERON  453 

on  duty  for  their  Queen  and  country.  But  that  is  an- 
other story. 

"That  message  ought  to  be  delivered,  nurse,"  said 
tile  doctor  thoughtfully. 

"But  not  at  once,"  replied  the  nurse. 

"It  is  important/'  urged  the  doctor. 

"Yes,  but — there  are  other  things." 

"Ah!     Other  things?" 

"Yes,  equally — pressing,"  said  the  nurse  with  an  un- 
deniably joyous  laugh.  The  doctor  looked  at  her  a 
moment. 

"Ah,  nurse,"  he  said  in  a  shocked  tone,  "how  often 
have  I  deprecated  your  tendency  to — " 

"I  don't  care  one  bit!"  laughed  the  nurse  saucily. 

"The  message  ought  to  be  delivered,"  insisted  the 
doctor  firmly  as  he  moved  toward  the  tent  door. 

"Well,  deliver  it  then.  But  wait!"  The  little  nurse 
ran  in  before  him  and  called  "Nu-u-u-r-s-e  Ha-l-ey !" 

"All  right !"  called  Cameron  from  the  inside.  "Come 
in!" 

"Go  on  then,"  said  the  little  nurse  to  the  doctor,  "you 
wanted  to." 

"'A  message  from  the  Superintendent,"  said  the  doc- 
tor, lifting  the  curtain  and  passing  in. 

"Don't  move,  Mandy,"  said  Cameron.  "Never  mind 
him." 

"No,  don't,  I  beg,"  said  the  doctor,  ignoring  what  he 
saw.  "A  message,  an  urgent  message  for — Corporal 
Cameron !" 

"Corporal  Cameron?"  echoed  Nurse  Haley. 

"He  distinctly  said  and  repeated  it — Corporal  Cam- 
eron. And  the  Corporal  is  to  report  for  duty  as  speedily 
as  possible." 

"He  can't  go,"  said  Mandy,  standing  up  very  straight 


454  CORPORAL    CAMERON 

with  a  light  in  her  eyes  that  the  doctor  had  not  seen 
since  that  iragic  night  nearly  two  years  before. 

"Can't,  eh?"  said  the  doctor.  "But  the  Superintend- 
ent says  Corporal  Cameron  is — " 

"Corporal  Cameron  can't  go!" 

"You—" 

"Yes,  I  forbid  it." 

"The  Corporal  is — ?" 

"Yes,"  she  said  proudly,  "the  Corporal  is  mine." 

"Then,"  said  the  doctor  emphatically,  "of  all  the 
lucky  chaps  it  has  been  my  fortune  to  meet,  by  all  the 
gods  the  luckiest  of  them  is  this  same  Corporal  Cam- 
eron !" 

And  Cameron,  drawing  down  to  him  again  the  girl 
standing  so  straight  and  proud  beside  him,  looked  up 
at  his  friend  and  said : 

"Yes,  old  chap,  the  luckiest  man  in  all  the  world  is 
that  same  Corporal  Cameron." 


,*>v 


M;  < 

^  \      \ 


000  123  148     9 


